Quartering Acts
by Ahr0
Summary: It's mid-August of 1774, the Quartering Acts have been re-established and one colonial blacksmith is forced to take in a British soldier. How will these two destined enemies live together under one roof? What of the war soon to come? USUK
1. Prologue

**Quartering Acts**  
><strong>By Ahro<strong>

_Rated M for sexual situations, violence, and language._

**This story is written from both Alfred and Arthur's POVs. POVs will change per chapter. **

**Summary: **Alfred F. Jones is a young blacksmith who has taken over his father's trade after he was killed during the Boston Massacre. Left alone for four years, he has sworn to bring vengeance for his father's death. However, the reestablishment of the Quartering Acts provides a kink in his plans.

Now with Lieutenant Arthur Kirkland housing with him, his freedom to craft weapons for the rebels grows hindered. Will he be able to revenge his father now under the watchful eye of the Brit? Or will he have to find another means to secure that goal.

Meanwhile, Arthur Kirkland, who has just arrived on the shores of Massachusetts, is unaware of just what life is like in the new world. Surprises await him as his own countrymen act far more aggressive to the colonists who are seen to be their brothers. People, Arthur Kirkland, swore he would protect under the good graces of the British Empire.

Will Arthur stick by his countrymen in the upcoming war? Or will something or someone cloud his vision and gain in him an ally for the rebels?

**Prologue**

The afternoon sun had been waning for the past few hours now. Dusk was beginning to settle across the brackish waters of Boston Harbor. This signaled to the lone sailor that it was high time to head back into shore. He had a modest catch, but it was all he would need to get by for a few days until he'd set out into the harbor once more. He was still short on his quota of muskets for that week, and he did not have the money to shop for food until he was paid. Of course, in all honesty, he did have enough muskets to fill the British colonel's order; those particular weapons just weren't for him.

The man brushed a few strands of golden hair from his eyes as he reached over the side of his boat. A small cluster of buoyant kelp had his attention. To any not looking for it, the kelp appeared like any other in the area. It wasn't until one pulled it up that they found a not-so-familiar rope attached to the base. With practiced ease, the man steadily began to pull the heavy plant and rope up into the ten foot sailboat.

After thirty feet of the coil had been laid aside, the man's prize surfaced. It was a long bundle of thick cloth the rope was tied around. Once on the deck of the sailboat, the bundle fell open, revealing two dozen bronze muskets. The man smiled at his work, resting a hand on the weapons complacently. It had been a struggle making the illegal weapons under the watchful eye of the British Army, but that would not deter the young blacksmith from continuing his father's work.

Reaching into the small cabin of the sailboat, he pulled out a similar bronze musket, and happily added it to the pile.

"You said you saved all that bronze for a reason, dad," the blond said, smiling as he watched the sun shine brightly off of the metal in front of him. "Now, I'll avenge your death with the purpose you had for that bronze."

Besides his catch, his main reason for venturing into the harbor was resolved. With the newly-made weapon resting safely amongst its brothers, he re-tied the bundle and gently lowered his treasure back to the safe watery depths. The average iron musket would have been worthless after having been submerged in sea-water; however, the rare bronze metal would last much longer, and allowed the man to hide his weapons where no one would find them. At the right opportunity, he would have plenty of stock to give to militia and colonial soldiers. The onset of war seemed inevitable, and he would need to be ready.

It was mid-August of 1774, and with the word on the wind of a first continental congress being formed, and possibly carried out soon, it wouldn't be long before the colonies held their own against the Crown.

The young man wouldn't have it any other way. They would pay for the death of his father during the Boston Massacre. His father hadn't even been among those antagonizing the British. Just being ushered through the throng of people on his way home when the shots were fired. He had been a kind man, and had raised and taught him everything he knew.

He would be taking up his father's mantle as Quincy's blacksmith upon his death. Yet, neither of them knew how soon that would have actually come.

Feeling the contented thump of the delicate parcel resting on the ocean floor, the blond made sure the kelp remained looking inconspicuous before he hoisted the small vessel's lone sail and headed back to shore. That quota for the Brits was still waiting to be filled. It looked like he still had a long night ahead of him.

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><p>After tying off the boat to a small piling just a few yards offshore, the blond waded through the shallow water to the modest building he had called home for all of his short twenty-one years. The closest building to him was a small shed in which he placed his fishing tackle and pole before moving to the main attachment.<p>

His forge was off to the left - far enough away as to keep the smoke, heat, and dangerous flames that could damage his other dwellings safe. A small barn that could hold two horses ran not far from it, but closer to the dirt road. His draft horse had already been taken care of by the neighbor's boy who came around frequently to tend to the animal. The child's obsession with the beasts would make him a valuable veterinarian one day.

Finally, reaching the front porch of his home, he noted the shrubbery along front needed to be trimmed at some point or would quickly overrun the painted white railing behind it. The porch as well had seen better days with it's scuffed wooden planks, paint chipping and an array of leaves and other debris cluttering it.

He had been left alone after his father was killed, and he didn't have the money to hire anyone for assistance with the place's upkeep. Everyone's wages had been garnished and the taxes had been draining everyone dry. Even with only one mouth to feed, besides his horse, he couldn't deal with the upkeep when he had so few customers to buy his wares.

Currently, his only buyers were the British, and they paid half of what his father use to make on top of demanding more of him in a shorter time.

He hated those bastards and everything they stood for; a society where only the British opinion mattered. The cares of it's colonies landing on deaf ears. Soon enough, they would be thinking differently once the rich land of the New World was no longer in their possession.

Every time the young blacksmith went out into the water to add another bronze musket to the pile, he could see one more British officer falling to it's cry.

Finally reaching the front door, the man entered his home with a relaxed sigh. Perhaps a little time to relax was in order after two solid weeks of hammering away his quota. Days and nights seemed to blur after a while, but he wouldn't let the British pull any stunts to catch him off guard.

Reaching for a lantern, the smith lit it to cast a warm glow into the foyer of his home. It was a single hall that opened up to the left with his kitchen, and to the right were two separate bedrooms. Furniture was scarce as the smith spent more time in his forge than he did in his actual house. It made it far easier for him to keep clean though.

Clean - was how it normally was; so upon noticing the large chunks of mud, dirt, and painfully obvious foot prints that tracked through the foyer and off to an adjacent bedroom, he couldn't help quickly pulling out his knife in hopes of catching the unwelcome intruder.

Following the trail, the smith could only assume whoever it was was an idiot; footprints leading through the hall, door to his location wide open. He certainly wasn't hiding, or aware that he was trespassing it seemed, as the smith rounded the corner into the bedroom he finally laid eyes on this 'guest'.

The man had himself comfortably situated in a winged back chair with his feet resting on an ottoman. In his hands he was reading a book with interest as he never even looked up upon the smith's armed entrance.

Seeing the lack of a threat, the blacksmith then looked to the arsenal the man had arrived with: musket, pistol, and a well crafted sword. His eyes did not fain away either upon seeing the offending red coat that slung over an adjacent chair. He knew what this was about, and he was not happy with it.

"British pig- you're in my home."

The soldier continued to read his book, uncaring at the colonist's obvious outrage until he waved a hand at the chest nearest the door. On top was a notice which the smith snatched up in annoyance.

"Do I need to read it to you too? Or have you actually not heard the news of the Crown's reestablishment of the Quartering Acts?" It was all the colonist needed to hear as he sent a death glare at the Brit, not only at his offending nature, but the situation as well.

Resting his book down, the soldier took his feet from the ottoman to rest lightly on the ground before standing up. He straightened out his shirt and trousers, taking his time to further aggravate the smith. The colonist was, however, happy to note the soldier was shorter than himself and far less stockier. He then made sure to bring himself to his full height. No matter how many fancy weapons the soldier had near by, the smith could still intimidate the man from pulling a trigger.

The soldier walked up to him, taking the parchment that was still held by the colonist, and turned it to his own gaze. He then proceeded to set the smith off by reading the refutable message aloud, as if the man's prior words weren't enough to solidify the inevitable.

"As of the 2nd of June, 1774, all colonists will be subjected to quartering British soldiers during this time for protection of its colonies from outside threats," the Brit summed up in one passage and folded the paper away into a pocket. "I am Lieutenant Arthur Kirkland, and I will be living under this roof until otherwise dictated by the Crown."

**A/N: Hello! Welcome to my first USUK fic! I've read my fair share of amazing USUK stories here on ff . Net and I've had an inkling to write my own story. Of course I chose to go the historic route which means loads of research but I hope I can pull it off and remain as accurate as possible.**

**As for this story, I've been wanting to write a ARW fic for USUK in which Arthur is already a British soldier and takes up quarters with Alfred. I feel this situation can bring about a lot of fun moments between their two personalities, while pulling them together as well. All, of course, happening just before the War is in full-swing for LOADS OF DRAMA! BWAHA!**

**Anywho, there will be an interesting twist at the end of this fic so I do hope you stick around as I write. :) Also, reviews are fodder for a writer's muse! On your way out, please do toss in a review of what you think. Hate it, love it, criticize it, anything at all, I want to hear your input. :) Thank you again for reading! :D *heart***  
><strong>(Also, chapters will be longer as I go. Prologue is just shorter. :3)<strong>

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><p><strong>Follow my Tumblr for status updates for "Quartering Acts" as well as USUK fanart by me: <strong>_ahro. tumblr. com_


	2. Chapter 1

**Quartering Acts**

By Ahro

**Chapter 1**

The smith took a step back from the Brit at his words.

The King had reestablished the Quartering Acts of 1765? How had he not heard the news? He had been rather secluded for the past few months due to the amount of work he had piling up. It didn't help much either that his home was built far from the main settlement in Quincy. That and his neighbors rarely spoke to him after his father had passed. Even their son seemed mute around him, only coming by to take care of his horse.

Scoffing to himself he knew there was nothing he could do about it, but it didn't mean he had to be a gracious host. "Well, _Mr. Kirkland_," he drawled, "If you're going to be living here, first, mind your boots at the door. This isn't a barn."

"Really? I'm afraid I could not tell the difference."

He could feel the hair at the back of his neck bristling. His fists clenched ready to punch the smug Brit, but calmed himself down with a heavy exhale.

After finding his composure, he reached around the doorframe and picked up a broom that had been resting next to the wall. Wondering if his attempt would even be reciprocated, he looked back to the Brit, eying him carefully, and produced the broom in front of him.

"If you must live here, for the time being, you'll need to at least make an attempt at keeping my home respectful. To start, you could sweep the mud and dirt you so ungracefully tracked through the foyer back outside."

The Brit stood there just staring for a minute, seeming perplexed by the smith's words. After what seemed like an hour the man's bushy brows arched and he nodded slightly in agreement. The soldier held out his hand to the smith for the proffered broom, causing the taller blond to pause a moment in hesitation. As if expecting a sharp retort or quickly using the broom as a weapon to put the colonist in his place. However, the expected reaction never came as the soldier took the broom and moved out to the foyer to do as the colonist asked.

All the smith could do was stand there and stare in absolute shock as the man silently swept. He hadn't dealt with many British soldiers on such a close level, but he had heard enough that the soldiers were far from hospitable. Perhaps he had been given a break?

"Thank you," he began, finding it difficult to say such words to the Brit, "for doing that." The soldier remained silent as he continued sweeping. The smith continued, clearing his throat as he did, "I'm Alfred Jones-"

"Is this how you colonists generally treat your guests?" The Brit suddenly interrupted, returning the broom along the wall, "Thankfully for you, I'm a gentleman." The soldier added, folding his arms in front of him to stare the smith down.

Perhaps he wasn't so lucky.

Rubbing his eyes, much too annoyed and tired by this point to deal with the Brit, he ignored the man and headed down to the cellar for a drink. No word of protest was issued as he did.

It was already past supper, but the haddock needed to be cleaned and salted before they could be cooked or stored. He'd be skipping another meal, but there was too much that still needed to be finished. However, ridding himself of his oncoming headache with a beer sounded much more promising.

"Would you happen to have some tea in this hovel of yours? I had hoped upon hearing I would be quartered with a blacksmith you would have been better off." Came the soldier's voice, raised a few decibels to be heard above the sound of opening and closing cupboards from the floor above.

He didn't even want to honor the man's question with a response, so instead, after pouring himself a beer from the large keg in the back, began setting up his cleaning table to prep the haddock.

His mind began to wander as the footsteps above began to quiet. He was still somewhat shaken by the soldier's move to listen to him and sweep the floor. Sure, his retort afterward fit the persona he had already built up of British soldiers, but the act still spoke volumes. He wondered if the man was merely putting up a front to antagonize him. It had worked, but actions always spoke louder than words. Why was he giving the man the benefit of the doubt anyways? Was he so starved for human contact over the years that he hoped he could somehow befriend the soldier?

"AHH! SHIT!" His knife fell to the stone floor with a clang as blood quickly pooled around it from the gash in his thumb. His mind had run off with his wild thoughts of the soldier and he carelessly missed the fish and cut his thumb instead. Grabbing for his beer, he poured a small amount of the brown liquid over the throbbing injury, a hiss escaping through his clenched teeth as he did. He then quickly tore a scrap piece of burlap from a nearby empty grain sack to staunch the bleeding.

He paused after the wound was tied off to hear any movement from above. He knew he was certainly loud enough, but was content the man above was ignoring him. All he needed was for the soldier to comment on his carelessness to send him over the edge that night.

It wasn't until the wafting smell of chamomile, drifting down through the floorboards above, did it trigger as to why his unwanted house guest had been so silent and chose to ignore him.

Leaving the fish behind still unfinished, he bolted to the stairs, taking them two at a time, to enter the small kitchen. Locating the hearth, he immediately noticed the small kettle that had been pulled away from the fire to let steep what were obviously the few dregs of chamomile tea he had saved since the boycott.

His movements were stiff as he looked into the pot, exacting his suspicions and silencing what he had hoped was just his mind playing tricks. The Brit had found the small packet of his father's favorite tea and made a pot without even consulting him. It had been one of the few things left that reminded him of his father, and he had planned on saving the tea for a special occasion in remembrance. Now, the very person who held ties to the people who had killed him had squandered it.

As if on cue, the man in question rounded the corner from the bedroom the soldier had marked his own, sipping contentedly at a cup of the tea in question. The smith knew his expression had to be seething, yet the Brit looked at him as if Alfred was wearing a smile.

"To think you had some of my favourite tea in your cupboard. I almost thought you had planned on my arrival till I realized you only had one pouch full. Pity there is so little. I believe I may have finished it off as well. You should resupply in town so we have more for the cold months ahead."

If the soldier could sense the atmosphere around them, he certainly wasn't letting on, as the smith's rage was palpable in the air.

Before Alfred even knew what he was doing, he had grabbed for the still hot kettle, and with an outraged wail, pitched the kettle and what contents remained at the man in the hall.

Completely caught off guard, the soldier dashed to the side just in time before the kettle could collide with him. Only after contact with the wall, the scalding hot tea that remained leapt out and managed to sear onto the Brit's chest, causing him to cry out in pain, his glass teacup shattering on the ground as he fell.

It was the perfect opportunity, and the smith was on the fallen man in a flash, the thought of his actions against a British officer being irrelevant at that point.

Alfred's burned hands were around the man's throat, while a glimmer of fear filled those emerald eyes that stared back at him, satisfying the pain the smith was feeling if only a little.

"Get... off me! You git! I'll see you hanged for this!" The officer fought against the much stronger smith's callused and burned hands but to no avail. At the man's words, he simply tightened his grip causing the man to gasp now, and attempt to beat his fists against his assailant.

_Is this what I want? Kill this man here and risk hanging before I have the opportunity to really make a difference? Would father want this?_

Questions he never thought he'd worry over bothered him as he felt his grip slacken, and just as they did, he could feel his eyes grow blurry with oncoming tears.

Was he this weak? Was he afraid? Or was it out of fear in disappointing his father?

By now, Alfred's hands had fallen to his sides while he remained straddling the soldier who had also grown silent with caution. The soldier's flailing had stopped, and his eyes were now searching the smith's face for answers to his own questions. The Brit would be left to wonder though, as Alfred finally stood up, and quickly left the small dwelling through the rear door. A creaking silence being all that was left in his wake.

The moon was cresting over the large pines that stood behind the smith as he approached the water. Nothing but the quiet chirp of crickets, and the occasional call of a jay could be heard. The water was calm, allowing the moon's face to show clear in its reflection. Stars dotted amidst the deep navy waters without a single cloud to block their light from creating a speckled landscape in the dark. To be able to lose him self out there amidst the waves, only the light of the moon and stars to guide his way, had always been a dream, a dream that seemed always hindered, and forever out of his reach.

"You left me alone," Alfred began; feeling his fists clench, while the tears that had been threatening, finally start to gently fall down the slopes of his face. "To try to figure out your plans while I didn't even know my own."

The sudden click of a hammer being cocked, and the feel of cold steel pressed against the back of his head was enough of a response to his unspoken question.

"I could show you my plans," the accentuated voice behind him began, "I do not believe you would live long enough to see them though." The barrel of the pistol dug further into Alfred's blond hair to emphasize the soldier's words.

Even in the cold air, he could feel sweat breaking out across his forehead, while his hands grew clammy. He couldn't even feel the burns that covered his palms any longer, as if the breath of death had already begun to tug his soul from his body.

He would die. He had the chance to kill the man, but he had walked away. Hatred. Pain. Guilt. He was never the man whom he aspired to become, and perhaps this just proved he had failed. Failed him self. Failed his father.

The man behind him had gone silent so Alfred took a slight step back, forcing the gun to dig deeper against his skull.

"What are you-?"

"I assaulted a British soldier. The penalty is death." He then turned now to capture those green eyes with his own cool blues, the barrel now pointing directly between his eyes. "It is your right under the Crown to pull the trigger."

Alfred's hand, now steady and without fear, gently moved up to wrap lightly on the soldier's hand that grasped the pistol, holding it steady in front of the smith's face.

Green eyes searched blue for some sort of explanation that would never be given, as sound seemed to fade away around them both. Time almost stilling in that moment, only two heartbeats filling the space.

One beating rapidly.

One beating softly.

The soldier's hand wavered under the smith's controlled grip, and without further resolve the pistol was uncocked and dropped to the dry grass at their feet.

Silence continued to linger.

Heartbeats quieting.

"I can not end a life that wishes for death." The soldier said, now dropping his gaze to stare at the fallen pistol. "We share more similarities than differences it seems."

The soldier continued to eye the pistol for a few moments longer until he finally turned his back to the smith, and looked up to the moon. A breeze had picked up, causing the tops of the tall pines to sway in rhythm with each other, breaking up the steady stream of light on their faces.

"I will not report what happened tonight to my superiors." The soldier began. It seemed as though he had meant to say more, but whatever it was seemed stolen by the wind, as he then started back to the main house, leaving his pistol at Alfred's feet.

Alfred watched the man go, disappearing into the house with out so much as a glance back. Candles were then lit, the windows beginning to light against the darkness. They remained lit for fifteen minutes as the smith continued to stand and stare. Another ten minutes seemed to pass until he finally felt his body coming back under his control.

His limbs felt as if they were made of the bronze and steel he melted down everyday in his forge. Nothing but dead weight at his sides. He made to finally take a step to test his shaky legs only to be snapped out of his revere by the brush of cold steel against his foot.

He looked down to see the pistol still laying forgotten at his feet. He stooped to pick it up, and knocked the small iron ball from inside, lifting it to eye level as he did.

"A shot meant for me." He said to the wind, half expecting an answer that he knew wouldn't come. He then took the small ball and pocketed it. He wasn't sure why he had planned to keep the musket ball, or what the true reasons were on why he was still alive at that moment, but he could feel something strange had happened between them during that moment. Nor what, when, or how would be answered then, or even ever in their lifetimes, but he did know that part of his father's plan was not for him to die there.

"Arthur... Kirkland."

**A/N: Major angst! I know! It's absolutely ridiculous for so soon but I promise more light hearted stuff is to come. At least before the war starts. ;P**

**Also, I'd just like to say thank you so much to those who have already reviewed, faved, and alerted to the fic! I was quite surprised to see so much come from a prologue at only just over 1k words. As I said previously, reviews keep the muse running and so far it's going strong. :D Thank you so much for reading as I have much planned for this fic and I hope everyone enjoys it as much as I have been writing it.**

**Do check out my tumblr for USUK fanart (as well as select scenes I'm illustrating from "Quartering Acts"), also for updates concerning the story's progress. **

**Happy readin**


	3. Chapter 2

**Quartering Acts**

By Ahro

_Rated M for sexual situations, violence and language._

**Chapter 2**

_"You abandoned him."_

_"N-no, I went to get help! I couldn't-"_

_"You left him alone."_

_"-but I couldn't-"_

_"He cried to you for help, and you ran."_

_"To get help!"_

_"To go hide."_

_"The water was rising! His leg was trapped. I needed someone stronger!"_

_"You needed him to drown."_

_"No!"_

_"You needed him to disappear."_

_"No, I-"_

_Killed him._

Waking with a start, Arthur Kirkland found himself drenched in sweat and tangled in his bedding from the disturbing nightmare. It had come again, after having gone years without hearing those accusations only to have them suddenly spring to life, left him severely disadvantaged. What could have triggered those memories to resurface after so long? It was always the same conversation, but that's all the dream held. A conversation in black space. This time though, something had been strange about the other voice. It sounded off. What could have made his subconscious change that voice?

He looked around the small room a moment, trying to find some composure to bring him back to reality.

He didn't recognize much, only to quickly remember he was no longer in England. The smells and sights were far different from the familiar. The best word he could find to describe it had to be 'cleaner'.

Had that triggered the dream? He had been with his family visiting the countryside when it happened. Birds were singing, the sun shining brightly through a rare blue sky... while his younger brother drowned.

Arthur thrashed out of bed, stumbling to his feet as he lurched forward, grabbing hold of a dresser to try and support himself. The memory was too much, and each breath he took seemed like it came with less and less oxygen. A mirror hung on the wall in front of him, displaying the fear and pain he felt inside. The knowledge he had denied to himself countless times seemed written amongst the lines in his young face. As if he was promoting his sin for public display.

He pushed himself away from the dresser and mirror, still staring at his retreating reflection as he did. He had kept backing up till his body hit up against a nightstand near his bed. A washbasin rocked on its base from the impact, quickly grabbing his attention from the mirror so as to save the basin from smashing on the wood floor.

With the basin now secure, he thanked for the distraction, and plunged his hands into the cool water to splash over his face, rubbing fiercely as if it would rub off the words that only he could see.

After he was satisfied, he braced himself against the small stand, letting his head hang between his arms, breathing deeply for any sort of relief that might come. He was in America now, and his past was gone. He had a job to perform as a soldier, and that was all that remained now. He had been content with that two years ago when he joined the military, and even more so now that he was stationed away from the familiar.

"I hate this place," He began saying to him self, staring at his blurred reflection in the water below him, "-but I hope I never leave."

After a moment, he finally stood back up, fixing his posture and stretching out relaxed muscles. He finally took to observing the light that was filtering in through the cracks in the shutters. The light was high already, signaling he had slept well past his morning fast. It was unusual for him to sleep so long but he disregarded it as a one time thing. Most likely due to the many restless nights he had had on the ship. To be able to sleep in a firm bed, with solid ground beneath him, seemed like all was needed to make it through a whole night.

Yet, it had also brought painful memories that he hadn't experienced on the ship.

Shaking his head to keep from back tracking yet again on those thoughts, he was finally clued in when a distant plinking sound caught his attention. He had forgotten the man he was dwelling with was a blacksmith. The man must have been up working all morning, while Arthur had gone and slept half the day away. Well, he certainly wouldn't be shown up by the colonist. He was far from lazy and wasn't about to let the man think as much.

He opened the shutters, letting in the morning sun to help wake him up, and then reached for his spare shirt. He had no where to be until that evening when he was scheduled to start his nightly patrols, so dressing casual was fair enough.

He was thankful for when he had arrived, the smith's lands had a barn for his chestnut mare to be housed. He wasn't interested in having to pay to keep her at the town stable, nor the idea of having to walk that far to retrieve her.

He remembered how surprised he had been upon walking in and seeing a beautifully groomed black stallion that had had the barn to him self. The horse was beyond large, and was a sight he rarely saw so up close. He was a draught horse, and far from the type one would see on the streets of London. It made him ponder the man who could ride such a beast and keep him under control. The horse's temperament was from kind when he had entered that day.

_The blacksmith._

He paused in his thoughts, his hands slowing as he was finishing fastening the buckles on his shoes.

_The blacksmith had almost tried to kill me last night, and in turn, I had almost killed him after he had fled._

His gaze drifted to the bedroom door where his belongings still rested in a chair closest it. He lingered on the musket and sword which had not moved from where he left them. The sun catching along the barrel of the musket, shining with pride from all the care he gave to the weapon.

He then searched for his pistol, expecting it to have been returned, until he recalled having dropped the weapon outside.

_He had wanted to die._

Another man with so little hope left. It was almost ironic the two of them shared such a desire from two different walks of life. Here he thought the new world would give its people a new start. Was he wrong in coming here, if someone who had been born and raised on this soil wanted off of it just as badly?

Running a hand through his forever untamed hair, he quickly grew frustrated with himself for still lingering with only his depressing thoughts as company. He was fully clothed, presentable enough for the weather at least, so he could leave his uniform behind. Perhaps walking the grounds a bit to gain some familiarity with his surroundings would be beneficial. He wouldn't make for a very good soldier if he was getting lost.

"Not that that smith needs much protection." He spoke aloud while he folded his uniform, thinking about the strength the man had displayed the night before. In honesty to himself, he had been rather careless to not have expected some form of retaliation from the colonist. However, he never realized the extent the man would carry it.

He then paused amidst checking his belongings, realizing he couldn't remember the man's name. Hadn't he told him his name at one point? He knew he was to report to "Jones Blacksmithing", so that was obvious, yet his first name still alluded him.

_Why am I concerning myself over that anyway? Something about that man has me on edge._

He listened to the rhythmic sound of hammer hitting hot steel as if caught in a daze. Imagining those taunt muscles as they flexed for each blow against the molten steel. Fire burning in those sky blue eyes...

"What am I thinking?" He exclaimed, stepping back from having been playing absently with a cufflink. Sure he couldn't deny having noticed the man's obvious strength in his shoulders and arms as he rounded that corner to see Arthur face to face for the first time. Those striking blue eyes behind his glasses seemed almost to pierce through him that night. Was that part of why he had willingly obliged in sweeping the floor? It certainly wasn't below him to sweep a floor, but to have taken an order from some commoner? Was it really an order?

The morning was quickly being eaten up by his mind chatter, and without anything else in the room that he could busy himself with, he headed out to the back yard in search for his missing pistol.

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><p>Outside, the sounds from the forge rang much louder, and smoke billowed from the forge's chimney in large black clouds. However, none of it could diminish such a day. With the smoke in the air, and the disruptive sound of metal being hammered, the day still smelt fresh, and birds still sang. Clear blue skies stretched out across the harbour while Arthur relaxed some from the sun's warmth that played on his skin.<p>

It truly was a beautiful land. Clean and untainted by war. A land that needed protecting at all costs, and he was glad to be a part of it. The rebels just didn't understand the value of this land. They could easily be taken over by the French or Spaniards, but they had the British Empire protecting them. Why couldn't they understand and respect that?

"Woah! Hero!"

Arthur practically fell backwards when the enormous black draught horse came charging from behind a row of thick old pines. The stallion, rearing and trumpeting his distress, while a small boy clung to its thick mane.

Once the boy had settled the horse, Arthur was surprised to find the boy was riding bare back. He couldn't help but be impressed, as the child looked no more than nine years old.

"My apologies, sir, I didn't see you there." The child called down to him atop the large horse; now digging divots into the grass, and tossing its head up and down, only settling some once the lad patted its strong neck reassuringly.

Arthur brushed himself off some after the dust that had been kicked into the air by the horse slowly began to settle. "No harm done." He straightened his shirt now, looking back up at the young boy. "You have quiet the handle on that horse. That is impressive of one so young."

Even though they were words of praise, the boy had picked up on the soldier's accent, and had begun to withdraw. His eyes then suddenly growing wide upon realizing he was still atop a horse in front of a British soldier (not proper etiquette by far). So when he began to slide off the tall beast Arthur couldn't help but dart forward to grab him.

"Woah, hold on!"

The boy was flailing his legs about as he attempted to slide off the back of the horse, which was easily a six foot drop.* Arthur was just quick enough to grab the boy under the arms as he began to fall.

Once he was safely on the ground, Arthur noted the boy was small, only standing just under five feet.* Odds were he generally used a small stool to get atop the horse in the barn.

"You can not just drop off a horse from that height. You could have injured yourself." Arthur said, legit concern lacing his words.

"I'm so sorry, sir. I should have dismounted right away, sir. I didn't know you were an officer, sir." The boy apologized profusely, hanging his head to keep his gaze from meeting Arthur's own.

"It's quite alright, lad. I would not have expected you to know who I am due to my lack of uniform. Even then, there is no reason to injure yourself on my account." He smiled down to the boy with a firm pat on the boy's shoulder, trying to reassure him Arthur would bring him no harm. The boy remained quiet though, so Arthur decided a change in topic was in order.

"So, you take care of the smith's horse?"

This worked perfectly as the boy perked up immediately at the mention of the animal. Completely forgetting who he was talking to in the process. Arthur was happy to see the change.

"Oh yes! Alfred is very nice, and let's me take care of Hero here. I was just giving him his morning exercise around the lands... sir." He added at the end, quickly recalling the previous conversation.

_So the smith was named Alfred. Alfred Jones._

"Hmm, Hero you say?"

"Oh, yes! Alfred has always wanted to be a hero to the town, and to make his father proud, so he named ol' black here, Hero." The boy said cheerfully.

"I see. Where is his father?"

Wrong question to ask it seemed, as the boy quickly darted his gaze to the ground. Taking a much bigger interest in a rock amidst the sandy dirt. Kicking it about with his foot as he did.

"That is alright, no need to-"

"He was shot," the boy started, "four years ago, in Boston." He continued to kick around the rock. "He was such a kind man, sir. He would never have joined in harassing the soldiers. He was just so kind."

"Are you saying Alfred's father was one of the men killed during the Boston Riot?"

The boy nodded and kicked the stone away.

"So he is all alone? No other family?"

The boy shook his head. "No sir. His mother died while giving birth to a younger brother. He died at the age of two from a bad cold in his lungs, sir." The boy's gaze drifted to the forge where the aforementioned man was still working. "Alfred has been alone ever since, and seeks no companionship, sir. I wanted to be his friend, but I'm afraid to talk to him."

Arthur's expression had grown solemn after hearing of the smith's difficult past. He understood what it was like to have no one, although, he didn't think that he could ever go completely without another's company.

"I haven't said too much, have I, sir?"

Arthur bent down to greet the boy at his eye level. He wore a smile now, hoping to cheer the young man up. "It will remain our little secret."

This seemed to please him as he nodded vigorously. Arthur couldn't help but laugh at the boy's enthusiasm. Still so young and full of life. He prayed the boy would grow up without the hardships Alfred and himself had been through.

"Umm," the boy started as he again began to toe the dirt, but after a minute of not continuing, Arthur urged him on. "Ah, well, sir, since you're quartering at Alfred's home. Do you think you could be his friend?"

Simple words, but ones that hit Arthur hard.

Had the boy learned of last night? Arthur highly doubted Alfred would accept any kind of friendship from him. Did he even want to offer such a thing to the smith at that? He was stationed here only temporarily while under orders. The thought of becoming a friend with the colonist seemed out of place. However, he couldn't help but feel a strange kinship with the man he barely knew, yet felt he had known forever.

"I am afraid I can not make that promise."

The boy's face grew sad at his words.

"However, I can say I will give it a try."

The boy's reaction was swift, and before he could react himself, the small child had his arms wrapped around his neck in a tight hug.

"Thank you so much, sir! All he needs is a friend and he'll be happy again. I just know he will!" He exclaimed, wriggling against the soldier.

Arthur felt a warm smile grace his lips as he pulled the boy from around his neck.

"I bet if both of you became really good friends, you could show both the British and rebels that we don't have to fight. We can all get along and no one will have to lose any more loved ones!"

The boy's optimism was difficult to fight, and the thought of going back to the way things once were was certainly an inviting prospect. As he thought more on the jovial boy before him, he couldn't help but think back to his own childhood. Had he ever had that same childish outlook on the world? He had lived through so much grief that he couldn't remember a time when he was truly happy to be in this world.

"I will pray for that day." Arthur said, trying to be as encouraging as he could yet remain realistic.

The boy simply nodded, and quickly jogged over to where Hero had wandered to graze. He reached for the bridle, and walked the horse back over with him.

"I have to put Hero back in the stable. If you would like, I can take care of your mare for you. I'm a really good horse hand! My father told me I could become a veterinarian some day!"

Arthur smiled, "I would be honored if you would look after her for me."

The child's already beaming expression widened even more until he went very stern, clicked his heels together, and raised his hand to his forehead in a salute.

"I will not let you down, sir!" He said in all seriousness.

"At ease, soldier, and see to it that you do. I might even toss in a shilling for a job well done." Arthur smiled down at him as the boy's bright eyes widened in shock. Arthur was sure the thought of being paid for doing something he'd gladly do for free had caught him off guard. Sure enough the boy began to stutter over his words as he thanked and nodded to him in rapid succession.

Before Arthur could say another word the boy had taken off with Hero trotting behind him. He was sure he would have hoped onto the horse to make it to the stable faster if he didn't require the assistance of a footstool.

Arthur let out a contented sigh from their exchange. The boy had given him something he never thought he'd feel again. That optimism was a cherished blessing that was missing in their everyday lives, and Arthur would make sure it did not disappear.

His gaze then went back to the forge where Alfred's hammering had gone silent, yet smoke continued to billow from the chimney. Perhaps he was taking a break from his morning's work. Making it a perfect opportunity to speak with the man.

With a plan set in mind, he started over for the forge.

As he walked, it then dawned on him that he neglected to get the name of the young boy.

He had also forgotten to search for his pistol.

The latter seeming far less important anymore.

**A/N: Yey for a POV switch. :D I will be jumping between Alfred and Arthur's POVs randomly. Chances are they will change by chapter versus in a single chapter.**

**I know there hasn't been much interaction between Alfred and Arthur as far as conversation goes but I promise it is coming in the next chapter. After all, Arthur is on his way to the forge. No more delaying, Arthur! :P** **So, again, do tell me whatcha think! The reviews have been wonderful so far and I'm really happy everyone is enjoying how I'm writing Arthur and Alfred. I am taking crits into consideration and I am editing previous chapters as I go, so if you're bored, feel free to see the edits and additions I've done to the previous chapters to make it a little bit easier to follow. (Even if you don't you won't be missing any vital plot.)**

**Again, thank you so much for reading! :D**

**Footnote:** *** Colonists used measurements in rods, chains, vara and other things. It's highly confusing and I'm horrible at math so I just kept to our modern day standard US measurements.**


	4. Chapter 3

**Quartering Acts**  
>By Ahro<p>

_Rated M for sexual situations, violence and language._

**Chapter 3**

The forge was far larger than both the barn and main house combined, as well as the most well built. Heavy brick was inlaid forming the foundation and sturdy walls, while glass windows and large barn doors opened up at either end of the building. The once red bricks were almost black from the years of soot that had caked onto them, leading Arthur to believe it had been in the Jones' family for some time. Even with the few lit lamps and windows allowing in the morning sun, it still felt dark and stifling.

Not to mention frightful, as Arthur grew concerned for his life as he moved further inside. Every wall and inch of ceiling that was available had a hook brandishing a different sharp implement or another. From farming supplies to woodcutting tools, and of course a wide arrange of swords, muskets, and pistols. It was a regular arsenal the man had created. If Arthur hadn't already know the man lived alone, he'd have expected there to be five or six blacksmiths working in one building.

Hoping there wouldn't be a sudden earthquake, Arthur began to look around for the owner, finding it odd he was no longer here. Perhaps he went off to grab more coal for the hearth? The fire had begun to settle down, while a piece that looked to be forming a bayonet was sitting unfinished in the simmering coals.

Before he realized it, Arthur had begun to look over the smith's handiwork. The man was still so young yet he seemed to have picked up his father's trade with a style all his own.

Each weapon was beautifully crafted and had its own unique flare of details that made them look more like a display piece than a weapon of war. His hand glided down the barrel of one particular musket that had caught his eye. The markings seemed old, yet were finely cut into the metal which secured their permanence over time.

As he lingered over them, Arthur realized that they were not just designs, but words. Startled, he picked up the musket for closer inspection.

_For liberty._

_He's a rebel._

Just as he was about to hide the musket a loud bang came from the far rear door, startling him into practically dropping the weapon.

Alfred came stumbling in, a beer in his left hand and a very familiar pistol in his right. Noticing Alfred hadn't spotted him yet, Arthur rested the musket back where he had found it to confront the smith.

"You're in my forge, why?"

Even with Alfred's stumbling, his words did not falter. Either he could hold his drink well, or was just clumsy.

Arthur cleared his throat, "You have my pistol, sir." Feeling being polite with a slightly drunk man around a multitude of weapons would be a wiser choice at that moment.

Alfred had turned to face him directly now. He stood six feet away, tall, yet solid in his stance. He rested back with his weight on his heels, one hand raised slightly at his side keeping the drink from spilling, while the other hung loosely, the pistol aimed at the floor. His blue eyes were calculating as he stared almost through the soldier. Sizing him up as if he was ready to start the war right inside the forge.

Catching Arthur off guard, Alfred suddenly flung the pistol at the soldier, causing him to fumble to catch the flintlock.

"What are you-?"

"Misfired."

"I beg your pardon?"

Alfred stood up straight this time, still eying the soldier while he drained the bottle of the last few drops of beer before tossing it along the far wall. He then moved past the soldier who still stood there uncertain as to what the smith was up to, and picked up the pair of tongs to begin working on the unfinished bayonet once more.

A few minutes passed before Arthur couldn't take it, "Might I ask that you elaborate on what exactly you said just a moment earlier?"

The smith looked over his shoulder absently, half a cigar now clenched in his teeth while his glasses had slipped slightly down his nose.

"I said, that pistol o'yours would have misfired had you shot it last night." He then turned his back on the man and proceeded to bring the hearth back to life. "I took the liberty of making a few adjustments so you won't have to worry about any misfires in the future."

Arthur couldn't help but wince at the word.

_Liberty._

"How can I trust that you did not tamper with it to the point that it will blow off my arm instead?"

The smith's movements were fast and Arthur was, again, caught off guard as Alfred took the weapon from the soldier's hands, and suddenly aimed it at the soldier's head.

Arthur could feel the sweat dripping off his brow now, his eyes staring into the other man's blue depths, trying to read the smith's thoughts as the barrel of the gun threatened.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, waiting for the end to come, the smith suddenly moved his arm away, and fired the pistol at the far wall. The blast rang through Arthur's ears as he released his breath in a heavy exhale, his eyes never leaving the smith's.

Alfred then clicked off the ramrod from the underside of the barrel, clutching it in his teeth as he did, then loaded the barrel with black powder, filling it with experienced precision. Following it with lead shot and a replacement ball, he packed it all in with the ramrod, replaced the rod, and handed it back to Arthur. Loaded and ready to take another shot whenever desired.

Arthur continued to stare at the smith, even as he turned his back on the armed soldier to attend the fires in the hearth.

_Is he giving me another free chance to shoot him in the back? With the weapon he modified and reloaded for me? Another request to end his life?_

He didn't even realize what he was doing as he aimed the weapon at the man's back, half-cocking the hammer with a resounding, familiar, click. The smith's movements never faltered as if he didn't hear that same sound many men would hear with their last breath.

With a soft exhale, Arthur uncocked the weapon again, and lowered it to his side.

Why couldn't he shoot this man? Alfred had tried to kill him the night before, and now he had reason to believe the man was working with the rebels. For all he knew, the smith had a stash somewhere of weapons ready to be distributed to the militia at a moments notice.

Straightening up, still eying the smith as he began to work the metal in the heightening flames, Arthur found his voice again. "Thank you... for repairing my weapon."

No reply.

"You... probably just saved my life."

"Teh-" the smith spat out the end of the cigar into the flames, turning to face the shorter soldier, "You'd save your life by not going to war, and returning back to where you came from."

"Wha- who said I was going to war?"

"Don't play me! The whole reason your King reenacted the Quartering Acts is to try and dissuade the uprising. He knows very well we're on the cusp of war." The smith looked to the pistol, "if you can't even fire your gun at a man who threatened your life, what will you do on the battle field when those seconds are what stands between you and a ball between your eyes?"

The smith's words dripped with venom and truth. Was it that obvious? He had never shot anyone before. He had once been scared of going to the colonies, as he knew he'd be on the front line at some point, but it was his only chance at ridding what haunted him night and day. Perhaps finding some form of solace in fighting for his country and dying for it would rectify his sins.

_But if I can't even shoot this man? A man who is obviously ready to face death with no fear only to put fear in his enemies. Almost as if Alfred was personified death._

Before Arthur could regain a semblance of composure, he felt his face heat up as the smith moved towards him, resting his large, callused hands on his shoulders as he did. Arthur felt himself stiffen, unsure of what to do as his eyes never left the others.

"You were never ready for this world." The man's hands tightened on his shoulders, eyes searching, "go home."

With those final words, the man turned back to the hearth to take the bayonet to the anvil nearby to begin hammering away on it. The sound seeming to erase the words that clung to the air as he did.

Arthur, for the first time in his life, seemed without words to reciprocate. He felt like a single leaf having fallen with its brethren, yet landing in a river on a course he had no chance of changing.

Feeling nothing else would come from their exchange, he simply left the forge, the hammering continuing, unaltered by his leave. A cool breeze had picked up as the afternoon continued on without him. He wasn't sure if his face was merely hot from the forge's heat, or something else, and the thought sent a chill down his spine.

_Worthless. Even that man knows it. You try and escape yet you face the same thing here._

There was nothing left to do, so he decided to head back to the main house and try to dig up some food and prepare for supper. In doing so, hopefully, coming across some beer to stew his thoughts in as well.

As he neared the house, he couldn't help but notice the smith's wood stock was considerably low. Had the man been so busy with his work to have neglected replenishing his wood supply? Winter wasn't far off, and if the weather was any similar to that of England's, he knew they were going to need a lot more.

Seeing a chopping block with a well sharpened ax laying along side it, and a large pile of logs ready to be chopped in two nearby, Arthur curled up his sleeves, and headed over to it.

It was impossible for the soldier to leave. Alfred knew as much as he did even while he said those words to him. He was sworn to serve, and could never return to England if he defected. He would have to hide in the colonies, and then avoid the colonists as they'd be out for his blood knowing he was English.

"I'm not some child in a man's army." He picked up the ax, weighing it in his hands as he flipped the blade up to admire the smooth edge. It was heavy, but even though he was small, he wasn't meek. Picking up a log from the messy pile next to the block, he placed it on the old stump and lined up his shot. With a clean arc, the ax sliced through the log like butter, with a clean ring as the head stuck into the stump below.

A smile lit up his face at the smooth cut. He had never chopped wood before in London, but it seemed like there was nothing to it. He had two perfectly cut haves that were ready to be piled up on the wood stock. This could prove to the smith he wasn't some worthless city boy.

Picking up a second, he placed it on the block as before, and arcing the ax back above his head, sliced down, only this time, falling off balance as the ax strangely glanced off the log and only cut a corner of it.

Arthur stepped back, his face contorting with confusion as he stared at the log. He had done everything the same as before. Shaking it off and going back to lining up his swing, he came back down on the offending log and this time cut through, but at another strange angle.

His hand went up to scratch his head as to why he was suddenly having trouble until a chuckle erupted from behind him. He spun on his heel to see non-other than Alfred, standing there grinning at him.

His shirt had been untucked and fell loose around him, while the tie at his neck had been undone to allow the fabric freedom to breath. He had been working hard after Arthur had left him, as his exposed chest glistened with sweat. Arthur felt heat rise in his face again, and like before, he couldn't tell if it was from embarrassment, or something else.

"At least ya' tryin'." The man chuckled again. Arthur scowled as he sunk the ax back into the trunk.

"I was not trying to prove anything."

Alfred's lips spread in a smile; heat flared in Arthur's face again, "Sure you weren't."

Arthur tore his gaze away from the rude man, but was suddenly engulfed by him at the same time. Protesting words seemed to fail the soldier then, as he saw out of the corner of his eye Alfred leaning down along side him to pick up the ax only to wrap Arthur's right hand under the head. The smith then took Arthur's left hand, and placed it farther down the shaft of the ax.

"First off, you're holdin' it all wrong." Arthur's face was bright red at this point as Alfred stood at his back, his arms encircling his smaller frame to show him how to grip the ax.

With Alfred's hands wrapped around Arthur's on the ax, the smith brought the ax up in a gentle curve above their heads, and as he brought the ax down slowly, made Arthur's right hand, gently, slide back along the handle to meet his other to allow the momentum of the ax to cut through the log.

Arthur suddenly noted that his own breathing had grown rather husky with the other man's close proximity only until Alfred stepped away to grab a new log.

_The bloody hell was that about? _

The smith then brought the new log up to Arthur's gaze, throwing off his rampaging thoughts... and hormones apparently.

"You also want to mind the knots in the wood when you're choppin'. They keep the wood together like nails. Also, try to keep the wood grain facin' the direction you're cuttin'. That'll allow the wood to peel apart much easier." Alfred patted him on the back as he placed the wood down in the appropriate position for Arthur to chop it.

Beyond the little lesson, Arthur couldn't get past this man's sudden change in personality. From pushing him away, and practically asking him to shoot him in the back, to being jovial in helping him chop wood, it just didn't make much sense.

Ignoring the questions that kept his mind occupied, he realized Alfred was still standing their watching him. So, rolling his shoulders back and making the same motions Alfred had just, rather intimately, showed him, he cleanly sliced through the wood like his first piece. This ignited a clap from his audience and he couldn't help but show off a smile. His first piece he must have had the wood placed correctly for having made a clean cut, unknowingly when he tried the second.

"If you can fill up the wood stock that'd be much appreciated." Alfred nodded to him. Arthur nodded in return and Alfred headed back to the main house to leave Arthur with his musings.

Leaning forward, Arthur picked up one of the chunks he had just cut to eye how the grain had peeled apart from where he sliced through it. It certainly made sense, yet, Alfred did not.

"Sir! Sir!"

His inner musings were quickly interrupted as he looked to see the small boy from earlier running up to him, waving his arms about as if his calling out wasn't enough to catch Arthur's attention.

"What is the matter, lad?"

"Sir! Alfred has invited me to dinner, sir! He came out to the barn while I was takin' care of your mare like you asked, sir. I was doin' a right job of it too, sir. She even let me pick out her hooves. Gentlest lady I've ever had the pleasure to take care of, sir."

"Yes, that is good to hear, boy. What of the smith?" Arthur chimed with a smile, trying to get the energetic young man to settle down.

"He's grillin' up the haddock he caught the day before. He even has lemons for the meat! You know how hard it is to come by lemons?" The boy rambled.

Arthur nodded and the boy continued, "He told me after I was finished with the horses, and they had water and blankets, to come let you know you're invited as well. He had a strange look in his eye when he thought of you. It was a look that he would always get when he was recallin' somethin' his father told him. Whatever you did, sir, must have been really somethin' for him to have willingly talked to me." He paused and then clapped his hands as something dawned on his mind, "You must be workin' at tryin' to be his friend, right, sir?" He clapped cheerfully.

"Ahh... I am not so sure I went that far just yet."

"Well, I'd say you're on the right track! I'll be back later for dinner! My mom might have an apple pie I can bring along for dessert too. You'll love my mom's apple pie, sir. She brings them in every week to the Common and they sell out within an afternoon. Everyone loves my mom's apple pies, sir."

No matter what Arthur was feeling he couldn't help but smile at the boy's endless amounts of enthusiasm.

"I look forward to it."

The boy grinned from ear to ear, and without another word, was off running back from which he came, only to round the barn and head down the road.

Arthur brought his gaze over to the main house where he could see the flicker of oil lamps in the kitchen where he assumed Alfred was busy getting the fish ready for dinner. Had the boy told him about their earlier meeting? Had that somehow changed Alfred's opinion, if slightly, about him?

He looked down to his hands as they still clung to the ax. The strength, yet gentle touch the smith had shown him as he demonstrated, had lit something in Arthur that he couldn't nail down. It was frustrating, yet he wasn't afraid of it, nor did he really want to run from it like so many other things in his life.

Turning, he picked up another log from the pile, while making sure the grain and any knots weren't in the way of his swing, placed it on the woodblock, and with a clean arc, split the wood in two even pieces. The sound was satisfying as he went for another and cut that perfectly as well. A smile lit up his face as he continued his work. He would be hungry after this.

**A/N: Alfred is not bi-polar. There is reasoning to why he suddenly changed from how he was in the forge to by the woodpile. Reasoning which you will learn about in Chapter 4. :3 **

**Thank you all for the lovely reviews! I have taken all corrections thus far and corrected the previous chapters. Again, feel free to leave mentions of any grammar/spelling issues that I miss. I'm always very appreciative of your work in doing so. And of course any comments on the story itself is always a pleasure to read and keeps that muse pumpin' out more chapters. ^^ **

**Thank you for reading! :D**

**P.S. Enjoy those innuendos? ;P**


	5. Chapter 4

**Quartering Acts**  
>By Ahro<p>

_Rated M for sexual situations, violence, and language._

**Chapter 4**

_Twice. That was twice_ _now he had an open shot and didn't take it. What_ _kind of soldier has an opportunity_ _like that and squanders it?_

_"A_ _soldier who doesn't know what side they're fighting_ _on."_

_Dad._

The haddock was still sitting on the cutting board in front of him. Ready to be filleted and grilled up for dinner, yet his mind couldn't focus on the simple task.

_He_ _swept the floor when I asked. He went out_ _of his way to chop wood without any provocation to do so._

_He lowered_ _the gun._

"Hey, Alfred!"

"Micah, you made it back fast." Alfred smiled at the young boy as he bounced around the kitchen table.

"Of course! I'm the fastest boy in my class! It's from all the practice I get chasing Hero around. He loves to be chased out at pasture." He paused a moment, "Oh, I was able to get that apple pie from my mom. She also told me to tell you she wishes you the best, and is happy you're feeling better and-" he paused a moment in his string of repeating his mother's words. "Well-" whispering, "-she said some mean things about Arthur after that, but I told her that Arthur was different, but she still doesn't seem to agree with me."

The boy sat up straight and returned to his boisterous voice, "I think you and Arthur will become great friends! I really like him a lot. He helped me down off of Hero when I didn't have my stool, and he said he'd pay me a shilling if I take good care of his mare!" He gasped with a grin as he covered his mouth. The thought of being paid for his work must have seemed foreign for him, and rightfully so.

_He's going to pay Micah for his help? A Brit?_

Alfred nodded, his enthusiasm on a much lesser level than the boys. "He does seem cut from a different cloth."

Micah tilted his head in confusion, "What cloth? Oh! Do you need any help preparing dinner? Mom says I'm a good help around the kitchen."

Alfred then realized he was standing stock still, hand holding a knife while hovering above the fish. Noting this he quickly got into his routine and cut the haddock into a few even fillets to place on a waiting plate.

"Go down to the cellar and pour two pints of beer from the keg, and grab yourself some cider. Also, grab a few johnnycakes while you're down there as well."'

The boy turned at this and gave the smith a pout of his lips.

"Sorry, you know wheat has been hard to come by."

The boy nodded in understanding and disappeared down into the cellar. With a moment of peace, Alfred headed over to the grate that was situated above the flames in the hearth. With a towel he dragged it out from its shelf like position and placed the fillets across it, returning it back afterward to begin to cook the fish. He had a few minutes to himself before he'd have to flip the fish over, or continue entertaining Micah, so he wandered over to the window that overlooked the harbor.

It was already past their normal dinner hours, but still well before supper. With how his habits had been over the last few months, he figured having any decent meal, regardless of the hour of the day, was in his better interest. However, today he had caught up, and finally made his quota, so there was no need to rush back to the forge between meals.

Taking a seat by the window, his attention was quickly brought to the British soldier who was still diligently chopping wood. He couldn't help but smirk at the pitiful attempt the Brit had been making before he showed the man exactly how to chop wood.

The way he held his hands far to close together along the handle, his poor posture, and unbalanced swing as he fell through on his second piece. The thought of how Alfred had then walked up to him, seeing that annoyed look on the soldier's face, as he reached down past him for another block of wood. Then circling his arms around the soldier, while positioning his hands in the proper locations along the ax handle.

How the soldier had fit so comfortably in his arms, almost as if the man had relaxed ever so slightly against him, as his stronger arms brought the ax around in a demonstration swing. How the other man's hair held the earthy-sweet smell of cloves.

"Alfred."

"What?" Alfred sprang from his seat near the window at the sudden shock from hearing his name. He had no idea where his thoughts were leading him, and wasn't sure what to feel about them at that time. Realizing Micah was standing there with two pints of beer in his hands, and eyes wider than saucers, Alfred settled his nerves and tried to focus on the boy.

"Sorry, I just seem to be a bit tired, and you startled me is all. Thank you for getting the drinks. I hope you found everythin' alright?" Alfred asked, taking the two mugs from the boy.

"Ahh, yes, Alfred. Your cellar is nice and clean. I found everythin' real easy."

"Glad to hear it. Why don't you go see if Arthur needs a hand stocking the wood he's just cut. Dinner should be ready in fifteen minutes."

"Okay!"

Alfred watched through the window as the boy bolted across the lawn to where Arthur had stopped to wipe sweat from his brow. Micah must have explained why he was out helping the soldier, as the boy turned back to the house and quickly waved his small arms back at the window Alfred stood at. The smith felt his face warm when the older man sent a casual wave in his direction as well.

Unsettled, Alfred moved away from the window to tend to the grilling haddock.

_A man_ _who_ _does not know what side they're_ _on._

"Teh- of course he knows. He's in the British army." Alfred scoffed as he flipped the fish over on the grate. "He'll be off to war the minute his commander calls."

_"And where will you be?"_

"Along side the colonists, fighting those English dogs back to that spit of land they call home."

_"A man_ _who does not shoot to kill has already been robbed of_ _that choice."_

_"But, Dad, I didn't_ _mean to miss the deer. Does_ _that mean I'll never be able to hunt and kill for my_ _family?"_

_"You didn't miss,_ _you chose to miss. I just hope for your sake you find a good wife that can handle a musket."_

He had laughed.

_"Dad!_ _I'll show you! I can shoot and kill a_ _deer! Honest, just take me out again."_

"Dammit, Dad!" The clatter of cutlery and plates jumping on the lone wooden table echoed through the small kitchen. Alfred's fist had punched down hard on the table in his anger as the memories flooded back to him.

_How did he know from_ _that day on I would never be able to shoot and_ _kill a living creature? How_ _do I expect to join the colonists in rebellion if I can't even shoot_ _an animal to_ _put food_ _on_ _my_ _table?_

"Is the fish burning?"

"SHIT!" Alfred jumped from his seat and ran to the hearth, quickly grabbing up a towel to pull the grate out from its pocket above the fire. The fish was slightly on the crispy side now, but was still edible. Cursing at himself again for being so caught up in his thoughts, he picked up a spatula and lifted each piece of fish to rest on the plates.

"I'm sorry, I think I've just overworked myself recently." He tried, the laughter in his tone sounding extremely forced.

"Perhaps you should call it an early night after dinner. I can clean up here." Arthur's sincere offer sent a sudden strange pang through Alfred's chest as he fumbled his way into his own seat. Perhaps it would be a good idea to get some extra sleep tonight. So long as he could get sleep with thoughts of the man continuously coursing through his mind.

"I'd appreciate that. Thank you-"

"A-Arthur, is fine."

Alfred nodded, "Thank you, Arthur. Oh... and, you cleaned up last night. Thank you for that as well."

"Hmm?"

Alfred cleared his throat, "Ah, you cleaned up the broken glass and spilt tea while I was still outside before you retired."

"Oh, right. It was my fault, after all. I should have asked your permission prior to making the tea. I had forgotten about the boycott the colonies had against British goods."

An agreeable silence fell over the table as bread was shared around and silent prayers of thanks were given. It then dawned on Alfred they were missing something very important he had been saving.

"Wait! I forgot something!" Before anyone could speak, Alfred was up and in the cellar rummaging amidst his cold storage until he found them. He had a small bundle of lemons that he had saved for and purchased at the market one day. They were extremely hard to come by and were highly expensive, but they were worth waiting for. Taking one and storing the other two away, he flew back up into the kitchen, making sure to hide the fruit behind his back. He moved over to Micah who was now eying him suspiciously.

"Okay, Micah, which hand?" He asked, noting Arthur's amused grin from the corner of his eye. An odd warm feeling fluttered in his stomach from those green eyes that were staring up at him, and he almost didn't hear Micah call out a hand.

"Alfred, I said you're right." Alfred laughed and brought out his right hand, opening to reveal nothing. Micah pouted and tried to lean around to look at Alfred's left hand, which he then brought around as well to show nothing.

"What are you doing, Alfred?" The boy whined.

"Ahh, wait, I think I see something..." Alfred leaned forward and reached behind the young boy's ear, "What's this?" Alfred then leaned back, holding the bright yellow lemon in his hand. "So do you always hide lemons in your ears?"

Micah burst out with a laugh as he grabbed for the fruit, waving it about in the air like an award. "How'd you do that, Alfred? You're really good! Can you teach me?" He exclaimed excitedly as he jumped at him now, asking for Alfred to cut the lemon.

Arthur had remained quiet during the exchange, but that warm smile never left, and a youthfulness seemed to light his eyes as he watched the young boy bounce around Alfred. Alfred never even realized he was staring when their eyes met, neither moving away as if a silent exchange that neither of them knew about was being made.

"Alfred! The fish will be cold by the time you cut the lemon!" Snapping back to reality Alfred chuckled and picked up a knife to slice the small fruit into three equal pieces. Micah snatched up the first piece, and quickly ran back to his place, squeezing the tiny slice with both small hands to wring every last ounce of juice from the slice onto his fish. "This is going to be so good!" He cheered as he set the sour wedge aside to dig into the fillet.

Alfred chuckled and picking up a slice and looked to Arthur, "Lemon?"

His smile brightened as Arthur's hand reached across the table. Fingers ghosting across the smith's own. Lingering slightly. Another silent exchange, before he accepted the slice and returned to his meal.

Alfred snatched his hand back, noticing he had left it hanging in midair oddly, and looked to his own food. Under his gold bangs he eyed the soldier to see the man's face had grown slightly scarlet, which he couldn't deny that his own felt similar.

"Arthur, could you pass me the cider?"

"Oh. Ahh, of course, umm, Micah." Just as Arthur reached for the pitcher of cider, a loud banging on the front door interrupted them, almost causing Arthur to spill the drink in the process.

"The hell is that about?" Alfred yelled, extremely offended and angered by the rudeness of the caller.

Pushing his chair out from the table with a loud screech along the wood, Alfred headed for the door, knife in hand. Arthur must have picked up on Alfred's awareness that this was not a common occurrence for the smith, so he followed as a form of back-up, pistol at the ready as he crowded behind Alfred. Feeling the heat and closeness from the other man seemed to warm Alfred some at the added security as he opened the door.

"Alfred F. Jones."

It was a statement. They knew who he was and Alfred bristled upon seeing the bright red coat in front of him.

"Yes, and we're in the middle of dinner. Come back some other time." A foot quickly interposed between the door and frame as Alfred attempted to shut it in the officer's face, inciting a gasp from Arthur; much to Alfred's dismay.

"Really now, is that anyway to treat a British officer?" The man pushed into the home, walking past both of them into the foyer while wrinkling his nose and pulling out a handkerchief to cover his face.

"What a stye. It's a shame you must dwell in a place such as this, Lieutenant Kirkland."

Arthur stood up straight, "I am grateful to Mr. Jones for putting me up here, sir." Arthur saluted, as he then stepped in front of Alfred.

The man laughed, "You act as if he had a choice."

A low growl escaped Alfred's lips at the intrusive man.

"Now then, I'm here on business. Mr. Jones, you have an order of thirty muskets that were to be delivered this morning at ten o'clock. No shipment has arrived, and I am under orders to find out why."

"Ten o'clock, today?" Alfred bellowed now pushing in front of Arthur to size up against the Brit. "The contract ordered no later than Friday by five in the afternoon! I still have three days!"

"Well, I'm afraid matters have changed since then. Do you have the muskets or not?" The Brit was swelling with excitement, surely believing by Alfred's outburst that he had caught the smith without the number of muskets, and was ready to write off his fee. Little did the Brit know, Alfred had been ahead of schedule for a reason.

Still glaring down his nose at the officer, who stood only an inch shorter yet owned a round belly compared to the smith's chiseled abs, Alfred turned to the door and opened it. "Let me show you to the forge." His voice dripping acid with every word.

The officer eyed him suspiciously, but silently walked back out until he stopped momentarily to look back at Arthur. "I'll send a man to see you to your route for the evening. Have a good night, Lieutenant."

Arthur saluted, yet his expression was one of disdain. Alfred couldn't help but smile slightly that one of their own was just as turned off by an officer's actions towards the colonists.

"But Alfred hasn't finished eating his dinner yet!"

Alfred's eyes widened in fear as he turned quickly to Micah to silence him, but it was too late. The officer had heard the raucous cry and had turned on his heel.

Feeling the man size up behind him, Alfred turned and reached to his full height, his hand protectively keeping the small boy behind him.

"The boy finds it alright to keep a British officer waiting, does he?" Alfred stared the man down, daring him to try anything. Alfred's fists clenched ready for anything the man would stupidly do. However, his intimidation seemed to work as the officer thought differently of instigating anything with the smith, and pushed past the three of them back into the house.

He approached the table, and eyed the food still spread out and untouched. "So this is what the boy calls dinner?" And with two hands, he reached under the side of the table and heaved it, sending the plates of food smashing to the ground.

"No!" Alfred knelt down and clutched at the boy as he tried to run, hushing him as he did. Arthur then stepped forward to block both Alfred and Micah from the overweight general. Arthur's glare was like ice as he met the general on the porch. Alfred couldn't help but question Arthur's motives. Was he going to stand up for them? He might as well have held out his hands ready to be shackled.

"Ahh... Lieutenant, my apologies if that meager meal was also meant for you. Why don't you come out with us after I check on those muskets for a pint and something more sustaining." The man laughed as he walked down the steps and began heading for the forge. Arthur never said a word, but just by standing before the two colonists, he was able to turn the general's attention onto himself.

Alfred stood from his kneeling position next to the boy to lay a hand on Arthur's shoulder. The soldier looked back at him and exchanged a knowing glance. Alfred had to show the general the muskets, or the man would never leave, and Arthur needed to protect Micah in case the boy had any other plans to entice the officer.

"Come on, Micah. Inside." Arthur's voice was stern but sent the boy a clear message. The boy complied, solemnly, still sending a glance back at Alfred. Apologies screamed from those sad eyes as he was ushered back inside by Arthur. Alfred felt bad the boy had to see such a display, but there wasn't much any of them could do. He was just happy none of them were hurt, or taken away in chains.

"Come on then, Yank!" The general bellowed from the middle of the yard, and just to emphasize his meaning a shot rang out as a musket ball imbedded itself, and cracking the wood framing on the porch directly next to where Alfred stood.

Alfred looked back to see Arthur standing in the window now, concern etched in his eyes. Alfred put up a hand to silently say he was alright, and then turned to head to the forge.

As he passed the general, he was sickened by the man's deep laugh, as he was handed another pistol from one of the two soldiers that had been waiting by the horses. With a replaced and loaded weapon, Alfred had to keep in mind each step he took over the next few minutes.

The smith, unnerved by the display, headed into the forge, the general not far behind, and made his way to a far wall where two long racks rested. One on top of the other and each holding fifteen, beautifully crafted iron muskets.

The general, his gaze now irritated by the sight of the completed quota, picked one up and weighed it in his hands.

"What is this rubbish?"

Alfred looked at him strangely, "Problem?"

"These are too light. They'll shatter the moment you fire them." The general argued.

Alfred grumbled as he picked up a different musket, prepped it, and aimed at a glass bottle opposite the lot of them and fired. The bottle shattered as the shot hit it square on. He then turned to see a brief impressed look on the general's face before it turned back into a scowl.

"They're modified to be lighter for better accuracy and for travel. You will not find a better made musket than here,... sir." He added the last part with contempt as he rested the musket back on the rack.

The general eyed the musket still in his hand, "We'll take them, but they will be tested by our gunsmith for any signs of sabotage." The general nodded to the two soldiers waiting by the door to move in and start loading up the muskets.

Alfred stood there as the soldiers worked, never making eye contact with them as they did.

Once all the muskets had been loaded onto a cart they had brought along, and the general and soldiers had mounted, Alfred ran out to them now enraged, "What about my fee?"

The general paused and smiled down at him, "Well, you didn't have the muskets delivered by ten this morning. I'm afraid your contract has been voided."

Anger bubbled up inside Alfred at the general's words, as the man's laughter drowned out any sound around him. Even the gentle pattering of rain as it began to fall on the soft soil, as well as the quiet hoof beats that approached him from behind were drowned out.

Then, Alfred's world went black as pain engulfed him. The approaching soldier had taken the butt of his musket, and rammed it down on the smith's collarbone, breaking it, and sending the smith to the muddy ground.

Laughter, hoof beats, and wagon axles slowly retreated from where he lay. Then the sound of sloshing mud from quickened steps neared him. Something being called out. His name maybe?

"-fred! Al-fred! Alfred, look at me!" The smith's eyes opened slightly as his name grew more distinguishable, only to then be caught in the fierce emerald gaze that looked down at him, wide with fear... and anger.

**A/N: This is by far my favourite chapter up to this point, and I don't believe it will be my last. **

**Thank you all again for the reviews, alerts, and favs! They really do fill me with encouragement to continue writing. I'm so happy everyone is enjoying this little story of mine. I know I've read lots of USUK fics here and I'm happy to finally be able to contribute something of my own.** **I have been fixing mistakes in previous chapters so if you see anything here, by all means, let me know. I really appreciate the help and it makes the reading experience that much better for new readers as well. :)**

**If you're interested on updates on how the writing is going, I update my tumblr with updates. Also, I post artwork and WIPs on there as well (lots of USUKUS): **_ahro. tumblr. com_

**Thank you** **for** **reading!** **:D**


	6. Chapter 5

**Quartering Acts**  
><strong>By Ahro<strong>

_Rated M for sexual situations, violence, and language._  
><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

"My mother's pie!"

Arthur looked over his shoulder from his sentinel position at the window upon hearing the small, distressed voice behind him.

"That bastard! My mother made this pie, and now it's ruined."

Arthur finally pulled his gaze from the window to walk over to the boy. They had righted the table a few minutes before, but the sound of a gunshot had diverted the soldier's attention from cleaning to the much more pressing situation outside. His heart had pounded, expecting to see the smith, collapsed on the stairs as blood pooled out around him. Seeing the man still standing had given him some relief; however, even after they had entered the forge Arthur could not look away. This general, who he was not familiar with, really gave the British a bad name. How he had risen to that rank was beyond Arthur's understanding.

"It will be alright, Micah. Perhaps we can find some time to go apple-picking and make our own." Arthur tried, hoping to cheer the boy up.

"I don't know. No one can make a better apple pie than my mom," he said sadly as he stared at the smashed pie in his hands. "Oh, but maybe we can pick some fresh apples and give them to my mom to make a pie with! That way she won't be spending her money for more apples."

Arthur smiled as he ruffled the boy's hair. "Sounds like a good plan."

A few moments passed in silence as they cleaned up the kitchen. Arthur's senses were on point as he listened for any signs of a fight or additional gun shots. He wished he was back at the window... or better yet, standing next to Alfred, giving him support against an enemy he had never thought to consider.

_Is this how its been over here? Constant discrimination and abuse from my own countrymen? These people are our brothers, yet we treat them like tools, and these bastards feel they can get away with it due to our leaders remaining in Parliament._

"Why did you stand up for us?"

The question made Arthur's heart seemingly stop in his chest, as the young boy looked up at him. His eyes, though serious, showed fear of repercussions... or the truth.

_Why did I stand up for them? I've been in America for no more than two days, and I've spent even less time with Alfred and Micah. Yet, even with my predisposed ideas of the colonists, these two seemed to have erased what I felt were the only truths._

The boy continued on when Arthur remained quiet, his feet shuffling together where he stood. "Alfred said you were cut from a different cloth. I don't know what he means by that, but I don't think you're anything like those other British soldiers outside. You wouldn't hurt my mom, and make her cry like the soldiers who have stayed at my home have. You want to help us, don't you?"

"I-"

Braying laughter suddenly ignited from outside, and before Arthur could come up with a coherent reply, he was on the porch, watching as the general and accompanying soldiers rode off to town with the muskets in tow.

There was a groan.

A muddied white form on the ground.

Cold rain pelting down.

Time seeming to slow.

The other man was in his arms.

Agony. Pain.

Blood.

"Alfred! Alfred, look at me!"

Those blue eyes, just barely opening before being winced shut again. Arthur could only make out that Alfred had been hit on his shoulder, and then struck in the head as he had fallen. Blood ran down the smith's face from where it had stained into his blond hair, and a large bruise was already forming around his collar bone.

"Shit! We need to get you inside." Arthur grit his teeth as he attempted to maneuver the larger man. He couldn't help but wince as each movement, regardless of how slow and cautiously planned they were, caused Alfred severe pain.

_Damn them! What could Alfred have done to deserve this?_

"Ar-thur? It's alright... I can... walk."

Arthur scoffed. "Are you that thick-skulled?"

"Heh- I must... not be... if... I'm bleedin' from it."

A smile actually flitted across the man's face at his own joke. Arthur rolled his eyes, but couldn't help smiling himself.

_He's in and out of consciousness, yet he still manages to make a joke at his own expense._

"Yes, and people who are bleeding from their skull, generally need help to walk. Many, in fact, cannot even do that."

"Then I must... not be so bad."

"Ugh- you really can be insufferable."

"Then don't... bother with me- AHHH! Dammit, Arthur!"

Arthur smirked. "Insufferable, yet somehow I can't seem to dissuade myself."

Arthur caught a slight smirk from the injured man at his remark, and they both went silent as they made their way back to the house.

* * *

><p>"Oh no, Alfred! Quick! Arthur, I already got his room ready for him. I have clean water and towels and bandages and beer and-"<p>

"Good, good, thank you Micah."

"Could I get a pint now, Mica-Ahh! Shit- Arthur!"

"That can wait till after we get you looked over."

Alfred sulked, but silently agreed as Micah opened the door to the bedroom to allow them entrance.

Arthur had to admit the kid did a good job. Everything that could have caused a hindrance was pushed far to the wall. The sheets on the bed had been replaced with clean linen. While a table was set out of the way with all the amenities that Arthur needed.

"Arthur! What else can I do?" Micah bounced in behind them as Arthur gently rested Alfred onto the bed, and turned to face the boy once he was satisfied with the smith's positioning.

"Yes, could you ride into town and fetch the doctor?"

"No."

Arthur was caught off guard as his arm was suddenly jerked backwards, causing him to stumble, and brace himself on the bed from falling. A muddled curse later, and he was suddenly looking into those fierce blue eyes. They bore into him, and he had to wonder what sort of strange power they had that made him feel so weak.

Arthur's face warmed yet again, "You git, I almost fell on top of you! Are you looking to get injured again, because I can certainly oblige."

His face must have reddened then even more, as Alfred had suddenly moved closer to him. Those eyes, never leaving his own, as their breath mingled together only inches apart.

"Forget the doctor."

"W-what? Why?" Beads of sweat had begun to collect on Arthur's forehead from their close proximity. He couldn't even pull away, as Alfred still held his arm in a vice like grip.

_Do I even want to pull away?_

A bizarre urge seemed to come over Arthur then, as he felt himself slowly leaning forward, his eyes growing heavy before snapping to reality again once Alfred quickly released his arm. resting back against the pillows as he did.

"I was taught first-aid when I was a boy. I can talk you through it." Alfred's gaze had left his, and was now looking out the window at the rain. The sun was setting through the dark clouds, and the few rays it gave off lit Alfred's face with an auburn blaze. His expression was stoic, even the few hints of pain from breathing were just barely visible.

Arthur was still in the same awkward position he had been pulled into before realization struck, and he quickly stood back up. He then began straightening his still wet shirt to try to hide the obvious flush in his cheeks. Not that it would do any good. He had to have been as red as a tomato, and Alfred had been staring directly at him from mere inches away.

_What just happened? He was joking while in extreme pain, and then he pulls me towards him like that. Those eyes...as if they were pleading with me to do something. Then he just pushes away, that expression completely gone, and I'm left flustered not knowing what to say._

"Ahh... do you find that wise?"

Alfred shot Arthur a piercing glare in defiance before turning his gaze to Micah, softening some for the boy as he did, as Micah had remained quiet during their whole exchange.

"Micah, in the cellar you'll find a medicine box. Bring that here, please."

Micah nodded quickly, and Arthur caught a glimpse of fear in the boys face before he rushed out the door. Did he think the exchange between Arthur and Alfred was something he shouldn't have been witness to? It couldn't have been over retrieving the medicine box Alfred had requested. Alfred had been far from mean to the child when he had asked.

"What has gotten into you all of a sudden? You go from joking about your bloody arm and still bleeding head, to a sudden resolute expression! Dictating commands like we are your puppets!" Arthur couldn't help the rise in his voice. He was a British soldier, and he certainly did not need to assist the smith in recovering. For all he knew, the man could have antagonized those soldiers for them to retaliate in such a way. He had gotten his pay. Why push his luck?

Alfred looked at him now, slight pain in his eyes, but still focused, "You act as if you know me when you've only been here for less than forty-eight hours. Who are you to say I've changed?"

"Who are you to say I don't know you? We have far more in common than you realize." Arthur's eyes widened as a gasp escaped his lips. His hands were quickly over his mouth as if in a futile attempt to catch the escaping words.

Arthur watched as Alfred's eyes narrowed.

"Get out."

"You still need to be treated."

"Get OUT of here you British PIG!"

"Absolutely not! You will bleed to death!"

"As if you even give a shit whether I live or die! I'm just another worthless colonist that you can mandate outrageous orders to, and we haven't a say in any of it!"

Alfred had begun to get out of bed, and before Arthur even realized it, he was moving towards the man to stop him out of concern for the smith's health. Completely forgetting for the moment they were in a heated row.

Alfred stumbled and hissed at each movement, blood still dripped down his face while his right arm hung limp at his side. Arthur reached towards him instinctively to get the man to sit back down, but was swatted away.

"So you want to nurse me back to health? Will that make you feel better after knowing your own damn people killed my father in cold blood! An unarmed, harmless old man! Like hell you deserve that right." He spat, still wincing at every move, yet towering to his full height to glare down at Arthur.

_Again, this man had made him speechless. Completely and utterly speechless._

"Wha- I never had the intent-"

"You never had the intention of what? Make me see the British aren't the thugs that they are? Why don't you tell that to Micah, who has seen his mother raped and beaten repeatedly by one redcoat after another that has been quartered to stay with them. I've heard them talk amongst themselves about her. How they lie to her saying they're a new soldier being quartered to stay with her, and how the other man before him was reported for having abused her. Only to go around and do it all to her again." He paused, "You know what they do to men who confront them?"

With one arm, Alfred grabbed at the buttons running down the front of his shirt and tore the fabric off. Gritting his teeth, he let the shirt fall off his good shoulder, and turned so Arthur could see his back.

Arthur struggled to not blanch at the sight, as an overwhelming feeling of shame and guilt, washed over him.

Alfred's back was lined with scars from having felt the lash. They hadn't been properly taken care of so the scar tissue was grotesque in the way it had healed. A matted look, raised and puffy, in thick lines from his shoulder blades to the small of his back. Crisscrossing here and there, while some had gone so deep that grooves had been dug into his skin.

"This is the punishment for telling so called lies about British soldiers."

Arthur's heart felt like it had plummeted out of his body as he stared at the scars. Never had he heard of such ruthlessness. Such stories never made it back to England. How could he have known?

"I-I didn't realize-"

"That those men you idolize are nothing more than thugs! This is a playground for them!" He then turned back to face the soldier, "and you have the audacity to say we have more in common than I think?"

"I-" Just as he was about to attempt to stammer something out, Alfred's good hand quickly grabbed at Arthur's shoulder as he rocked on his feet, quickly losing balance as he slumped towards Arthur. His head coming to rest in the crook of Arthur's neck. His breath, warm and tickling against Arthur's skin, was quickly becoming a major distraction as Arthur tried to brace himself under the weight of the heavier blacksmith.

"Micah! Micah, I need you!"

No response.

_I need to get him back into bed._

Trying his best to not worsen his injuries, Arthur held the man in his arms just long enough to rest him back in the bed, taking as much care as he could.

Arthur looked him over quickly, noting that blood had continued to trail down his face while the foolish man had ranted. Adding in the pain from his broken collar bone, it was amazing the man had been standing on his own moments earlier. It just showed how strong his will was. To live alone in solitude for four years certainly paid its due on the smith. Perhaps that was reason for his mood swings? Had he grown so socially inept over that period of time?

Realizing he was delaying, he quickly turned and ran for the door, only to practically fall over something resting just outside it. Looking down, he found the medicine box that Alfred had sent Micah to fetch. A small note, having been scribbled with some haste, was attached to the lid.

_**I had to go see my mom. Please help Alfred get better. He needs a friend right now.**_

Arthur leaned against the door frame.

_Had he heard?_

Looking down at the box at his feet and back to the form on the bed, he folded the small piece of parchment, tucked it away in his pocket, and reached down for the box. It was rather light which concerned him slightly as he took up a seat alongside the bed.

His gaze drifted across Alfred as he absently opened the box. The man's chest had remained bare, and Arthur couldn't seem to pull away from admiring his well toned and tanned abs. There were other scars, he noticed, but not from a whip. These were more likely burn marks from his work.

Arthur licked his lips as they had gone dry as he stared, before he realized he was wasting even more time. Turning his attention back to the box, he lifted it open only to be brought face to face with hardly the correct supplies necessary for the job.

_This fool doesn't even have the most common herbs stocked. Nothing but linen bandages, adhesives and alcohol._

His gaze wandered back to the smith, shaking his head as he did.

_It can not be helped._

Taking a pad of linen, he soaked it with the alcohol and moved in closer to the man's head. Thankfully, Alfred's face was turned away from his, allowing perfect access to the large laceration above his temple.

Arthur bit his lip, worrying if the impending sting from the alcohol would wake the smith, but he had to move on. He had made a promise to Micah.

Moving the bloodied strands of hair out of the way, he gently dabbed at the gash only to quickly pull his hand away upon the immediate flinch from Alfred's body. Holding his breath while he waited to see if Alfred would open his eyes, he let out a sigh of relief when the man settled again and remained unconscious. He then went back to wiping away the blood and disinfecting the wound the best he could.

Sighing to himself at the lack of certain herbs, he took out a new bandage and pressed it against the gash to staunch the bleeding. Taking a roll of linen, he then gently lifted Alfred's head to wrap the bandage around it to add constant pressure to the wound.

_I can do this._

Satisfied that the blood had stopped. He then looked over to the man's shoulder and collar bone.

He was pleased to note the bone had never protruded through the skin. It had sunken inwards slightly, but would mend so long as he could keep the smith from over exerting himself in the coming months.

Now, though, was the challenge. Standing up, he leaned forward to gently hoist the smith against the back wall under his good arm. A groan left the man's lips at the disturbance, but he remained asleep.

Letting out his held breath, Arthur picked up more of the linen roll and gently straddled the man's lap in an attempt to wrap the bandage around his back and across his injured collar bone. It wasn't going to be easy, as the small bone was delicate, and he didn't want to make it worse than it already was.

Bringing his arm around the smith's back, he cautiously pulled the man away from the wall to rest against himself so he could use his hand's freely to wrap the bandages.

Alfred's face rested in the crook of his neck once again, and his steady breathing, dancing across his skin, had Arthur at the man's mercy once more. Focus didn't seem to be forthcoming as he swallowed the excess saliva that was building up in his mouth.

His hands were growing clammy as they shook to try and secure the bandages. He was doing a terrible job as it was far too loose to do any good. He just couldn't seem to bring himself to pay attention.

_Why am I getting so worked up over this man? After everything he just said, and for me to be reacting in such a manner is ridiculous. He'll be badgering me in the morning over what a shitty job I have done._

"This is stupid." He rested the linen down on the bed, "Such a simple task and I can hardly manage it."

"Arthur."

The voice was a whisper. A puff of warm breath on his exposed skin. Arthur went stiff as the breath was replaced by soft lips, gently kissing under his jaw, and a moist tongue flicking slowly out to paint a circle in the same area.

Arthur moaned at the sudden contact, chills running through his body only inciting Alfred's lips to claim the spot once more, sucking now, as his better hand gently brushed up under the back of Arthur's shirt to run along his spine.

Control seemed like a foreign concept now, as Arthur arched his back at the soft touch, Alfred's lips now beginning to trail up to his earlobe which he claimed with a gentle nip.

It wasn't until Arthur moaned Alfred's name did he feel the other man's growing erection against his own, causing him to quickly realize what was going on, forcing Arthur to push away.

Their eyes met. Blue to green.

Alfred's held a lust in them he had never seen in anyone's eyes before, and it confused and excited him at the same time. What was happening?

"I-"

"Get out of here, red."

He ran.

**A/N: Mind. Blown! Congratulations! You have just read my FIRST EVER smut! :D I hope it was good for you. ;P There is much more of this to come.**

**Oh- just a quick note, Quincy is a city in Massachusetts. I'd assume most of you would have picked up on that but I just found out Quincy is also the name of a group of beings/people in Bleach (Sorry, I know nothing about Bleach). So, that may have sounded strange if you were unaware of the city to begin with yet are familiar with Bleach. lol Although if you're into history, Quincy is a big city to know about. :)**

**Also, I'd like to say 'THANK YOU SO MUCH' to my lovely beta-reader "Tobi" who has been helping me fix previous chapters and correct ones to come. So here's to fewer grammar and spelling errors and better flow in my writing. :D**

**Again, big thanks to all those who have reviewed, faved and alerted to the fic! I love reading all the reviews you have taken your time out to write. They really inspire me knowing how much this story is being enjoyed. ^^**

**Also, I have started illustrating scenes from this story. Check out my Tumblr for the artwork: **_ahro .tumblr . com_ **(minus spaces of course).**

**Thank you for reading! :D *heart* *love***


	7. Chapter 6

**Quartering Acts**  
><strong>By Ahro<strong>

_Rated M for sexual situations, violence, and language._  
><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

_What the hell am I doing? What just happened? Why did I do that?_

His thoughts were erratic as he rushed out of the small house and into the yard. The rain was still coming down, but it hardly fazed him as he kept running towards the stable. He had no idea where he was going - all he knew was that he needed to get away from that house. Away from the blacksmith. Away from himself.

_Why did I moan his name?_

Looking back over his shoulder he saw that the house had gone dark and decided to head into the stable to saddle his mare. It had been a few years since he'd last felt the warmth of a woman. Could his reaction towards Alfred have been caused by a lack of that need and want? The smith was certainly not a woman, though, and it was his name that had escaped his lips.

_He said my name too. He wanted me. Why?_

The horse suddenly grabbed his attention away from these musings by nipping at his wet shirt. It was getting late, and the mare was clearly irritated at being jostled awake and brought out in the cold rain.

"Sorry, girl, I need some time to clear my head."

"Lieutenant Kirkland?"

Arthur nearly jumped out of his own skin at the sudden voice. Turning around, he noticed a silhouette walking towards him, slowly entering the lantern light. It was a British soldier, come to call on him for patrol. Damn, he had forgotten all about it, and he was out of uniform.

"That's me."

"Ensign Berkley, sir. I am to accompany you on your nightly patrols around the town, sir." The young man saluted. Arthur noticed the boy was looking at him awkwardly; finally, the lad spoke up. "Might I speak freely, sir?"

"You may, but I already know what you are concerned over. I am out of uniform. I am afraid it must be laundered after the trip here."

"Understood, sir. However, I'm afraid you must be in uniform during patrol. I do have a spare coat you can wear for tonight. We can stop by the home I'm stationed at if you would like, sir."

Knowing he had lied to the boy and was in need of something more than the white shirt he had on, he nodded his agreement. This was a distraction from his thoughts. He only hoped the ensign would grow more talkative as they rode. So far it was looking bleak, but the boy knew his position, and seemed to take it seriously enough. Arthur wondered how long he had been in the colonies. Were the soldiers here simply corrupted by this land over time? Could being away from England bring about this change?

"That will do. I appreciate your assistance in the matter."

The young man saluted, and headed back out into the rain.

Arthur finished saddling his mare, which had recently been named Crimson by Micah, and began to walk her out. His attention, however, was quickly drawn towards a familiar red cloak hanging in the stall he hadn't noticed earlier. He had forgotten leaving his cloak in the stall the day before, and now experienced some small pleasure at the thought of finding warmth in its folds. Since the sun had set, the cold August air had begun to stab at him through the thin fabric of his wet shirt. Even the ensign's coat wouldn't have done much, and so he welcomed the heavy fabric with far more enthusiasm than was needed.

Tossing the cloak around his shoulders and clasping it at his neck, he then hoisted himself up into Crimson's saddle to walk out and meet the boy who sat waiting for him atop his own blue roan. They both set their horses to a steady trot as they headed down the dirt road. The rain had settled to a drizzle by that point, but it had rained enough to turn the road muddy. Arthur would be facing a much later night now that he'd have to rid Crimson of the cake of mud from their patrol.

"I'm quartering with a widow and her son just down the road a ways, sir."

_Micah?_

Arthur felt himself stiffen in his saddle. Reflecting back on to what Alfred had said about men who had been staying at Micah's home... what they did to his mother.

"How long have you been there?"

The ensign jumped slightly as Arthur had remained quiet for a considerable amount of time. He stuttered out his reply, "O-only two weeks, sir. I just arrived in Quincy from being stationed in New York, sir."

Arthur nodded. Good. Chances are this young lad hasn't been corrupted by the men in the area. He seems naïve enough.

They carried on in silence. The only sounds between them were the clopping of their horses' hooves in the soft mud and the gentle patter of light rain amidst the trees. It was quite calming; he began to wonder what beauty this small road would hold when fresh snow had decorated the trees in the winter, and blossoms came forth in the spring. Would he be here long enough to see those sights? Could he even make it through the next day when he'd have to confront Alfred?

There they were; his thoughts had found their way back to the man he had hoped to forget about for the evening. He had wanted desperately to find something to talk about with the ensign but now he didn't think he could. The first thing that came to his mind was to talk about who the boy had waiting for him at home, which would only lead to himself having to think about the past again, and continue the lies he had spun over the years. He was tired of the lies. He felt as if his own life had turned into a lie.

_Am I going to add Alfred to that list of lies now? Lie about how I did enjoy his large, rough hand caressing the bare skin of my back. His lips as they gently kissed a trail along my neck. How I had grown hard in need for him as I felt his own stiff desire._

"This is it, sir."

Arthur had almost led his mare past the small home, so wrapped up in his own world. He finally righted himself, and began to hop down from the horse to come alongside the ensign.

Arthur was happy to note that the lanterns were still lit inside of the house. At least they wouldn't be waking anyone up. Then again, he wasn't too interested in seeing the boy so soon especially when he was with this strange soldier he hardly knew.

"Would you mind going to retrieve it for me? I would prefer to avoid disturbing the lady of the home." He was polite about it, but he wasn't giving the lad a choice with his tone.

The ensign knew an order when he heard it, and thus left Arthur to mind the horses until he returned.

Only a few minutes had passed by the time the soldier returned with the familiar red coat. It wouldn't have the correct marks of his station on it, but it would only be for the night, and he had the heavy cloak to block much of the uniform from sight. He only hoped they wouldn't happen upon any other officers along the way or they would reprimand him for his dress.

"How long is the patrol route?" Arthur asked casually once they had set out yet again. Taking a last look at the home, he couldn't help feeling a pang of guilt upon noticing a small shape quickly darting from the window.

_I will find a way to make it up to him. I will not be the cause of more grief._

"Our jurisdiction is the outside perimeter, away from the main town. We are to report any crime or rebel movements in the area to General Dereks."

"Who is he?"

"I believe he came by the blacksmith's earlier today for an order of muskets. Did you happen to be there when he visited?"

Arthur could feel the hair standing straight up on the back of his neck. His knuckles turned white as they gripped the reins.

_I have to report to that pig bastard._

"I believe I saw him briefly."

The soldier nodded.

Arthur gritted his teeth as spiteful thoughts continued to bubble up inside him, but he tried to push past them and focus on the other portion of the man's words.

"You said 'our' jurisdiction. You will be accompanying me on these patrols?"

The boy nodded again.

"Yes, sir. It's been ordered that all British soldiers are not to patrol alone for our own safety."

Arthur sneered, _What a load of bollocks. More like having the upper hand when confronting a lone colonist. Bloody cowards._

This ensign was still very naive in his thoughts, but he couldn't deny he was pleased he was now stationed with Micah and his mother. The boy's obvious devotion to the rules, and need to protect the people seemed like qualities that were far and in-between in the region. He wouldn't have been surprised if the soldier laid down his life to protect Micah and his mother if they ever faced a serious threat. Although, if that General ever came along wanting to get his dick wet, the soldier might not speak up against a man of higher rank.

Arthur was going to have to keep a watchful eye on Micah's home while he was stationed here. He refused to let Micah see his mother abused again. He wouldn't allow Alfred to feel pain for doing good. He was apart of the British Empire, and he was here to protect these people. Even if that meant he was to protect them from his own people.

* * *

><p>The patrol had been uneventful. Arthur learned very little of the man as Arthur was more concerned with letting anything of himself be revealed in the process. The boy didn't seem to mind though as he seemed content in his own world.<p>

It had suited Arthur as well, yet the lack of conversation had kept his mind focused on Alfred.

The end of their patrol route came close to the busier part of the town, and the sounds of music and jovial activities grabbed the ensign's attention.

"Why don't we grab a drink to celebrate our first successful patrol?" The boy said excitedly as he eyed the pub not too far from the road.

Arthur took a moment to ponder whether he was ready to face the smith, but quickly came to the conclusion that a drink sounded much more promising.

The lieutenant nodded his reply, and they led their horses over to the raucous pub.

* * *

><p>If Arthur hadn't known he was in America, he'd have thought he stepped into a pub back on the streets of London. There wasn't a single colonist to be seen. Everywhere he looked was a man dressed in the uniform of the British Army. It seemed like the pub had been staked out for English patrons only. Even the owner was a loyalist from England.<p>

"I'll go get us a pint."

Arthur nodded to the ensign as Arthur began to take a seat at a table by the rear wall. Their entrance had gone unannounced, much to Arthur's delight, as he eyed the familiar, fat, face of the aforementioned General Dereks. The man laughed with such vigor Arthur was shocked anyone in the town was sleeping.

"Oh- you spotted the General." Berkley had returned with their beer and took a seat along side the lieutenant.

Arthur only nodded as he lifted his own mug to his lips.

"He's always quite boisterous like that when he drinks."

"Only… when he drinks?"

"Ahh- okay maybe more frequent than not." The younger man laughed awkwardly as he scratched his nose.

"Hmf- it is very unbecoming of a British General. He should practice some restraint. Being so careless..." he took a gulp of his beer, "will be his death."

"What was that, Lieutenant?"

"Nothing."

The ensign had gone back to watching the General as the man chugged another beer.

Arthur's attention was on the ensign. The lad's eager attention gave Arthur cause to worry.

"Were you stationed under the General before, Ensign?"

"Oh- yes, sir. When I first joined the military I was put in his regiment. I had been transferred though when the General was to be sent over seas. That was a year ago now." He looked down at his mug, and he began to play with the foam, "I'm actually rather happy to be reporting to him again, sir."

Arthur watched the boy with a frown.

_Does he really know what kind of man this, General Dereks, is? To admire him so; I should hope for the boy's sake he does not._

"-And the bloody smith thought we'd actually PAY him for being late!"

Arthur's attention couldn't have been grabbed any faster.

_Not paid!_

"What a fool! Word around here says he's suppose to be a rebel, too, and yet he made the muskets so well that even our gunsmith was impressed." The general slapped his robust belly as he laughed. His uniform stretched uncomfortably from the strain, and it now adorned large stains from beer and food that had been sloshed down it. The man was an absolute pig.

"Well- even if he is a rebel, he won't be making any more muskets for anyone, not with that present we left him. Perhaps we should go shut his shop down now that he's useless. Put the rebel bastard out on the cold streets where he belongs."

The man's laugher was infectious as the rest of the pub burst out in laughter. Even the ensign laughed some.

"Wow, is he talking about the blacksmith you're staying with, sir?"

Arthur didn't listen as he had quickly downed his mug, and had left to get a refill at the bar.

He was the only man not laughing in the small pub, which garnered the general's attention rather quickly.

"Hey, when did you arrive, Kirkland? Finish your patrol already? I hope you found Ensign Berkley a pleasant chap to travel with. He's a bit quiet but a good soldier." The General had walked over to Arthur and slapped a large, wet, hand on his shoulder, which sent a chill of disgust up his spine.

"Hey there, Berkley! Come on over and have a pint on me!" The man's attention went to the young Ensign against the wall while he still held onto Arthur's shoulder. The boy seemed to blush as he got up with his mug, and quickly made his way to the bar.

"Three more, Roger."

The barkeep nodded and poured more drinks for the soldiers.

Arthur watched as the General downed his mug in one go; in sighting cheers from the soldiers once more, and slammed it down on the bar. Berkley took his, and shakily attempted the same, but coughed in the process, which made the General laugh, and slap the lad on the back for a good show.

"So, Kirkland how fares our smith friend?" The man laughed again. "I do hope he's interested in filling another order of muskets for us. I think fifty should do it by tomorrow!"

The crowd laughed again. Arthur grit his teeth.

"I do not know, sir. I am afraid I had other matters to attend to at that time."

"Ahh- right, like banging that pretty lass down the road from you. She's been around, but she still gets wet enough for a good shag."

Arthur could hardly stand it.

"Sir, are you alright?" Berkley's worried tone cut through to him beyond the laughter, and it was enough to lower his anger a bit before he lost his control.

Drinking the last of the remaining mug he quietly thanked the general, and excused himself to take a piss.

* * *

><p>Leaving the pub into the chill air felt like a relief from drowning. Arthur wasn't sure if he could have restrained himself much longer. It would have been foolish to have started anything with so many soldiers around. No one would have taken his side, and he'd have been carted off for treason in seconds. He would be of no use to anyone once he was dead. Right now, he felt like he was the only one looking out for the weak.<p>

_When I had signed up, I thought it would be for a noble cause. A way to wipe my slate clean._

Arthur looked down to his open hand, so weak, and small. Clenching it into a fist though he would find the strength to still help even at the adversity before him.

He was thankful he hadn't been followed outside so decided now was his opportunity to head back.

_But head back to what? Would Alfred accept me back? Even while under orders I'll find a way to leave him if that is what he wants._

Sitting astride Crimson he brought his gaze to the stars, noting how clear they shown in this land.

_Even if that is what he wants._

* * *

><p>As Arthur made it back to the stables, he hadn't realized how strong the beer had been. His face was flushed, while his vision had grown hazy as he had rode back.<p>

_Two drinks, and I feel this way. Bloody hell I'm pathetic._

Once Crimson was back in her stall, albeit half-haphazardly, he stumbled slightly out into the yard. He caught himself just soon enough when a lantern was lit inside the previously dark home, and began to move to the front entrance.

Arthur quickly ducked back into the barn, and blew out his own lantern to plunge him into nothing but moon light.

The front door was opened with a soft creak as Arthur watched Alfred slowly make his way outside. His step was off as he was still far from recovered, and seemed to eye the distant out house with contempt as the man remained on the porch.

He had set the lantern down on the top step, and with caution, made his way down, leaning on the banister as he went before he stopped at the grass.

Without any modesty or care, Alfred pulled out his penis to take a piss while holding himself up by the support of the railing.

Arthur gulped at the sight. Even in the cool breeze Arthur noted the man was well endowed. His mind suddenly jumping to thoughts he never even thought could be possible.

His own member throbbed as his face grew even warmer as he watched Alfred.

Once the smith had finished he had went back inside, and Arthur knew it was impossible for him to return to the house as well.

His erection was now painfully obvious, and even if he had made it to his bedroom he wasn't sure if he could be quiet enough in pleasuring himself.

Looking over his shoulder, a large patch of hay in the back corner caught his attention, and his concern was quickly lifted.

The barn was warm enough with the two large animals, and the enclosure being as small as it was would keep the heat inside. With the wind being blocked, a night in the barn shouldn't be too bad.

He closed the large doors to limit wind, and any other creatures from entering uninvited and made his way, the best he could, to the patch of hay.

His mind was still riddled with thoughts of the smith as he laid down, finally freeing his stiff member. His body had grown so hot that even the air no longer affected him as he began to stroke himself.

A moan escaped his lips as he pictured the smith standing over his prone form. The muscles in his strong shoulders rippled as he knelt down before him, resting his large hands on either side of Arthur's head to allow their eyes to gaze at each other.

The larger man then leaned forward, his lips taking Arthur's with a desperate need and want they both craved. One hand reached up to brush through Arthur's messy hair as he prodded the soldier's lips apart with his tongue for entrance. A moan escaped Arthur as Alfred's tongue dove deep into his mouth. Tasting that salty, sweet, tang of lemon on his breath as he did.

Arthur's hand quickened its pace on his cock as he pictured Alfred, while leaning on one arm, their lips still locked, allowed his free hand to travel down Arthur's chest. Lightly dragging his fingertips down to excite his nipples, and with a gentle squeeze made Arthur buck towards that touch.

He could see the smile in Alfred's eyes at the soldier's response. The smith released Arthur's lips, and began to kiss his way down his jaw, his neck, to his chest. Now finding the hard nipple with his tongue.

Arthur moaned louder this time as his back arched. His grip and pace growing faster as his pre-cum slicked his penis.

He wanted release as he saw Alfred than move down between his legs, gently spreading them, and allowing a finger to ghost across his entrance. A gasp escaped him as he felt the finger begin to press into him, following with a second.

His eyes began to roll in his head as his body arched further from the ground as he saw those brilliant blue eyes grin back at him just as his cock was enveloped by Alfred's mouth.

"A-ALFRED!"

He came, hard, as his body rocked through the waves of pleasure that went through him. His hand grew slick from his seed as he rode out the last waves. His body slowly coming back into his control.

His breathing was heavy as he tried to catch it, quickly feeling exhaustion flow through him.

Thoughts of where he was were no longer prevalent in his mind, as he quickly allowed sleep to over take him.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Arthur's head was spinning.<p>

Groggy, pain, and a strong desire to empty his stomach compelled him to wake-up.

Looking around he recalled vaguely the night before. He had gone out on patrol. Was forced to share a beer with that pig of a general. Found his way back to the barn. Saw Alfred.

His hand went to his mouth as he suddenly noticed the large blanket that he knew had not been there. Lifting it he saw the proof of what he had done, and then knew someone had seen him in such a state to have draped the blanket over him.

_Micah?_

He quickly tucked himself away and stood up. Looking around the small barn for any sign of the boy.

"Micah? Are you here?"

No reply.

He walked over to Crimson's stall, noticing the disarray he had left her in. The boy had certainly not been here or he would have seen to the mare. Hoping it would help wake him up, Arthur went in to attend the horse.

He had removed the saddle last night, and placed a blanket over her, however, he had neglected to remove the halter.

Apologizing for his negligence, he removed the artifact, and put out a large bin of oats. He had filled her water, thankfully. Lord, he was an awful drunkard.

Taking a brush he began to smooth out her coat. Their was dry mud still caked to her legs which he berated himself over.

_And after I had thought about that while we were setting out. Had I not seen Alfred-_

He paused mid-brush as he stared past the horse into space.

_I'm blaming Alfred over my sick, perverted, desires. If he knew the things I pictured him doing to me last night._

He paused in his thoughts.

_What if he did know? If Micah wasn't the one to have placed the blanket over me, it had to have been Alfred. He'd have seen me exposed like that. Would he have thought I was thinking of him?_

"Sorry, girl, I'll be back later. I have a few things to sort out."

The horse wickered a response, and returned to her oats.

Opening the barn doors, sunlight blasted his eyes as he winced and raised his arm in an attempt to shield them. His head throbbed with the steadily oncoming headache as he tried to get use to the sun. One thing about America, they had their fair share of sunny days.

"SHIT! You...lousy, piece of... horse..."

A string of curses from the forge quickly grabbed Arthur's attention. There was no guesswork involved as to who would be in there. He knew he had to go, but was he even in a right state to address their situation.

_Is it even our situation? What if his injuries had just deluded him? Sure, he had said my name, but I went along with it. Then last night in the barn. I'd be a fool to just dismiss my reactions to him._

Tired of trying to justify it, he went over to the forge, and peered in through one of the large barn doors.

Alfred stood awkwardly in front of the hearth, attempting to light the smoldering coals with a large bellows that required two strong arms. In which, Alfred was painfully missing the use of one. So he had rested one end on a stool and was trying to push down on the other end, but the device continued to slip away under his weight. This caused Alfred to slip, and jostle his injury around even more. Easily inciting the same string of curses Arthur had picked up on earlier.

Arthur couldn't help but smirk, though it angered him to think the man thought he could be out working after a concussion and broken collarbone.

"If you think it's so funny, why don't you come over here and help me."

Arthur was struck off guard as Alfred suddenly turned to look over his shoulder at the soldier.

He hadn't been prepared for the confrontation just yet but he silently stepped forward.

Alfred stood back up, groaning as he rotated his good shoulder from the stiff position he had had it in. Arthur was happy to see Alfred had fashioned a sling for his other arm, which he had been minding during his exertion. He still couldn't fathom how this man could be out at all.

"You really should not be working with those injuries." Arthur spoke up as he sent a glance to the mentioned areas before picking up the heavy bellows.

Alfred stood back and watched quietly as Arthur began to pump air towards the coals, slowly bringing them to flame. It wasn't easy as the bellows was old but he wasn't going to show any weakness right now in front of the smith. He had too much to say to be dismissed.

Once the coals were burning steadily, Alfred moved over to the hearth and gently pushed Arthur from in front of it. Arthur sneered but remained silent as he placed the bellows to sit along side the stone hearth. He then watched as Alfred picked up a piece of iron with a pair of tongs and rested it over the flames till it glowed red.

Arthur couldn't help but interject at this point.

"Now how do you intend on hammering it with your left hand?"

Alfred said nothing, only picking up a hammer with his left; he rested the hot bar on the adjacent anvil, and began slamming powerful blows upon it. His arm in the sling attempting meekly to keep the tongs holding the iron in place.

Arthur had to admit he was impressed, but even he knew the iron wouldn't come out even remotely useable. If anything, Arthur would have to admit the man was looking for an out to blow off steam.

"You know that iron will be useless."

He just had to push his luck, as Alfred was suddenly in his face with the red-hot iron nearly at his neck. The heat from the metal made his eyes water as sweat began to bead up on his face.

"Would you care to enlighten me as to how I will afford to live if I remain bedridden for the next few months?"

Arthur winced as he suddenly remembered the conversation in the bar.

"They did not pay you?" Arthur knew, but he had to mind the cards he played right now. Any wrong choice and he'd be losing more than a few shillings.

"Yes, I'm afraid they had forgotten about that. Perhaps on your patrol you may have come across the good General and he recalled not having paid me my thirty pounds, and gave it to you to return to me."

The sarcasm only added to the heat in the air as Arthur was pushed further towards the wall by Alfred. The iron still threateningly close to his throat.

"Why not let me work for you?"

The bar moved closer, Arthur swallowed, "What?"

"Let me help you in the forge. I have nothing else to occupy my time besides the patrols at night. I could help you smith weapons, tools, or whatever needs to be fashioned to help repay what was taken from you. I am stronger than I look, and I learn quickly."

Alfred seemed to ponder Arthur's suggestion a moment as the bar was pulled ever slightly away. Those blue eyes still bore into his own green orbs with such a fierce clarity that it unnerved Arthur. The light from the hot iron in front of them seemed to not reflect off them. Only the sky blue continued to pierce through the oranges and red that lit up his face. He almost felt like an illusion in front of the soldier. Something so unearthly he couldn't place it.

Something seemed to register with the smith as he finally stood away from Arthur, and lowered the smoldering iron to his side. He continued to glare down at the soldier but had relaxed a bit in his stance now.

"I can imagine you'll only cost me more in wasted materials than you would in bringing me wages."

"Truly, Alfred, you saw how quickly I caught on with the wood cutting. Let me try and help you."

Alfred had turned to look out the large barn doors to the harbour beyond. Just slightly glancing at him from the corner of his eyes. The way he stood, almost lazily, with his weight on one leg stirred something in Arthur's stomach.

_Just looking at him standing there is affecting me._

"I will let you try, but by the end of a month, if I've tossed more materials than you've produced then it's over. You can find some other way to repay me."

"Hang on, just because I am with the British army, does not give you the right to directly accuse me of having stolen from you."

Alfred was in front of him again, "You all wear red, so you're all the same."

He then turned as fast away as he had come, and moved back to the hearth.

Shaking off the accusation, Arthur followed behind Alfred only to pause suddenly noticing the linen wrappings had begun to unravel from his chest, and were trailing out from under his white shirt.

"Wait- before that let me change your bandages. I can do a better job now with you conscious." Arthur had moved closer behind him and had grasped the hem of the man's shirt to tug it out of his trousers.

Wrong card played, as Arthur suddenly felt the cold steel of the large anvil at his lower back, and one of Alfred's legs pressing in between the soldier's legs.

If he heat was bad in the forge before, it had grown much worse as Arthur's face lit up again. He quickly tried to avert his eyes and embarrassment from the smith, but the man only grabbed his chin to force him to look back at him.

"I told you to run, yet you came back." Arthur let out a sudden moan as the smith ground his leg against Arthur's groin. "You were thinking about me in the barn last night as you stroked yourself to completion." Alfred's hand then went to fondle Arthur's slowly stiffening member through his trousers. Arthur could only lean back to try to keep himself together but the smith's manipulations were quickly arousing him. "Is this what you want, Brit?" He had undone the buttons of Arthur's trousers, and his strong hand was now wrapped around his stiffening cock.

Arthur could do nothing but bite his lip as he tried to look through half-lidded eyes at the man before him. Even his thoughts escaped him as all he could do was watch the smith in front of him, silently stroking Arthur's arousal as he just stared back at the soldier's prostrate form.

"A British soldier being wanked off by a colonist rebel. I never thought I'd have such a pleasure."

Arthur wanted to say something, to try to persuade the man he would be on his side until Alfred disappeared from his sight and his cock was suddenly enveloped by Alfred's lips.

He moaned louder now as he tried to lean up on the anvil to see exactly what Alfred was doing.

Those sky blue eyes looked up at him now as Alfred took the soldier's length deep into his mouth. Sucking and stroking him at the same time. Arthur swallowed the growing lump in his throat as he watched Alfred's head move up and down on his erection. He almost couldn't take it anymore as he felt his balls tightening, preparing for release.

"Al-fred... I-"

At Arthur's shuddering mention of the smith's name, he heard the man moan himself around Arthur's cock, only sucking harder now.

He couldn't hold back any longer and with a grunt Arthur spilled his seed deep down Alfred's throat. The smith seemed ready though as he greedily swallowed the soldier's cum, hardly flinching as he did.

Arthur's body shook slightly as his arms grew weak in trying to hold himself upright on the anvil. He felt his now flaccid member slip from Alfred's mouth and the smith stood up from his kneeling position below him.

Arthur just barely caught the sight of Alfred tucking himself away before he began to walk to the forge barn doors.

"W-wait-"

"I need a drink. Clean yourself up and you can fix these damn bandages you're so keen on maintaining." And with that the smith left Arthur alone in the forge.

His thoughts were still muddled, and he could make nothing of their strange situation. He felt it best right now to do what the smith said, and follow him for a drink himself.

**A/N: Well- a lot went down in this chapter. *giggles* I'd like to apologize now as I jumped ahead and posted this without running it by my beta. I was just too eager to get it posted. 3 However, now that a good chunk of smut is out of the way, I will be taking my time in posting the coming chapters so they're properly edited.**

**Thank you as always for the lovely reviews, favs, and alerts! I'm so happy everyone is enjoying this story as much as I am in writing it. ^^**

**Please do continue to leave your thoughts on the story. I love to read them and do reply as much as possible to everyone. Your comments really help inspire me, so thank you again! 3**

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	8. Chapter 7

**Quartering Arts**

**By Ahro**

_Rated M for sexual situations, violence and language._

**Chapter 7**

It had to have been déjà vu. Another, partially cleaned haddock was laying in front of him on the cutting board, while a large mug of beer; already having been drained and refilled, sat beside it. If it wasn't for these strange feelings that seemed to overwhelm the smith, or the continuous ache from his head and collar, he'd have thought the day had repeated itself.

_This__ has __to __be __the __most__ confusing __situation __I __have __ever __been __in._

Picking the mug up once more, he lifted it to his lips, chugging the contents till it was dry and slammed it back down from where it came.

The alcohol was doing it's job in helping to sate the pain from his injuries, yet it did nothing for the odd pang that stirred in his gut at present.

When Arthur had left the previous night for patrol, Alfred had looked to the luxury the drink brought with it. It had worked to rid him of the physical pain, and seemed to be working well now. Already the constant throbbing had begun to ebb, but now he was saddled with a different kind of pain... and it was pissing him off.

_This __was __suppose __to __have __ended. __Why __is __this __coming __back __now?_

"Why now?" His scream echoed through the cellar as he flipped the long cutting board and it's contents up against the stone wall. However, in doing so he had forgotten about his arm in his rage, and quickly felt the fragile bone crack from the sudden movement.

He was on the ground, swimming in renewed pain as his head began to float close to unconsciousness.

_Shit! __I __can't __pass __out __here!_

With his good arm, he blindly reached for the water bucket that was to be used to wash the fish off after it was clean, and, after spilling some in his haste, was able to lift it above his head and dump the cold, murky water over himself.

The water stung, as there had been scales and blood from a previous piece of fish he had cleaned, and he was sure the cut on his head would fester because of it. He cursed his need for help but at least the water had kept him awake.

Biting his lip from the pain, he stumbled to his feet, leaning heavily on the support of the stone outcropping from the wall. The room spun so he clenched his eyes shut in hopes that it would stop. The rank smell of blood and fish was making it's way into his nose, and it quickly turned his stomach. He attempted to heave it back into the water bucket, only loosing some to mix with the dirty water and blood on the floor.

After the contents of his stomach was gone, he sat back against the cold stone feeling it best to just not move.

_This__ must __be __someone's __cruel __joke. __Four __years __I __manage __by __myself __with__ little __difficulty, __and__ then __this __soldier __steps __in to __my __life__ turning__ every thing__ on__ end._

His hand rubbed across his face. He felt disgusting, and all he could think about was that damn soldier, and how right now he wanted badly to hide the mess he was sitting in so the man didn't stumble in on him in such a state. How he had become so dependent on this man in such a short time had him completely bewildered. It was as if he was a lost child all these years, and suddenly a hand had reached out to him to offer help that he never knew he needed.

_What __am__ I __thinking?__ I __only __need __help __now __because __I'm __fucking __injured, __and __by __one __of __his __own__ people__ no__ less! __Once __I'm __healed __up, __I__ won't __need__ his __help __anymore._

"Ugh- what the bloody hell is that smell? Smells of fish and vomit."

Alfred stiffened as the owner of the voice suddenly appeared from the cellar stairs. The look on his face as the soldier came below the upper level immediately made Alfred even more confused.

"Wha- are you alright?" Arthur's tone was of sincere concern as he vaulted off the stairs to run to the smith's side. The man didn't even think twice as he slid to his knees in the blood and vomit strewn floor. His deep green eyes looked Alfred over as he quickly assessed his previous injuries and began to look for any new ones.

"I-I'm alright. Please... just- I'm disgusting, you don't need to be so close." Alfred tried as he attempted to stand from his awkward position on the filth ridden floor.

Alfred was again shocked when Arthur quickly took the smith's good arm and wrapped it around his shoulder to give the smith support. The embarrassment he felt at his own appearance was overwhelming, but he felt so weak from the pain, and exertion from vomiting, it gave him little means to fight the soldier's assistance.

"What happened? You are a mess. We need to get you out of those clothes and cleaned up."

Alfred's eyes widened.

_He's__ going __to __help __me __bathe?_

"There's- ugh, no 'we' in there." He grunted as Arthur attempted to help him up the small steps to the main floor.

The soldier laughed. "Really, do tell me how you fared last night on your own with that broken collar bone of yours."

Alfred groaned knowing he had fared quite poorly in fact. Attempting to remove his shirt was the most painful experience he never thought he'd have to do. It had pissed him off that something so small had made him so weak.

"Fuck off- you damn Brit."

Arthur simply chuckled knowing he had won as he attempted to lead Alfred outside to the well till Alfred stopped him.

"We're not wasting well water over this. Just, help me to the harbor."

"Are you bloody insane! It's August!"

"Yes, and salt is better to clean out this gash on my head."

Arthur went surprisingly silent as they turned and headed to the shore. Perhaps the man had been stricken dumb by Alfred's words. Salt cured meat after all. It would work to clean the wound as well. Alcohol could come later.

Upon reaching the pier though, Alfred's assumptions of the man were quickly thwarted. The soldier released Alfred's arm and took a step back, crossing his arms across his chest in continued protest. "Fine, just do not hold me accountable if your testicles fall off."

Alfred bit his lip as the words bubbled up in response. This man was just too entertaining.

With a sneer, Alfred turned to face the man, "Afraid of a little cold water, are ya'? Did you suck on your mother's teats till you were ten?"

He deserved it; but what better way to get into icy cold water than to jump in. Or in this case... pushed.

The water quickly rushed up over his head, sending his whole body into shock from the frigid water. He thrashed about till he found his footing on the rocky bottom, and quickly jumped up, shaking his hair out yet immediately regretting the action as it made his head swim. He was at least thankful for the distraction away from his shoulder. Slamming into the water on his back had made him instinctively try to swim which only caused more harm to his collar bone.

"Second guessing that decision, are we?"

Alfred sputtered and hissed as he held his arm against his chest. Trudging out of the water, he brought his good arm up to check the gash on his head. He withdrew his hand to see blood, yet again. Thankfully, it was clean.

"What happened to nursing me back to health?" Alfred chimed in as he showed his bloodied fingers to the soldier.

"Perhaps I just wanted to learn your trade and then off you during the night."

Alfred laughed, "That would be a shame."

The soldier paused a moment, "Why is that?"

Alfred smiled mischievously as he looked over at the soldier on the dock, "Those whores at the bar do a piss poor job at sucking dick."

It worked, and Alfred couldn't help but grin at Arthur's face as it burned a bright shade of red.

"Ugh- that is truly undignified! I would never stoop to the need of a whore's touch." He scoffed as he tried to look appalled at the smith's words; standing erect with his chest puffed out and arms crossed in a dignified manner. Nose up in the air. While Alfred found it the perfect chance to sneak up on the unsuspecting soldier.

_Never __take __your __eyes __off __the __enemy._

A loud splash and spluttering curses quickly filled the air as Alfred held his stomach in laughter.

"YOU BLOODY WANKER! YOU FUCKING THINK YOU'RE INJURED NOW! JUST WAIT-"

Arthur continued to shout obscenities as he waded out of the water; rage evident on his features. Alfred had to admit that a moment of fear had run through him. He was in no shape to fight the man off. Just the exertion of pushing Arthur into the water had stressed his injury.

_Could__ I __have __pushed__ too __far?_

Anticipating a blow, Alfred took as much of a defensive posture as his injury and weakness would allow. Instead of a berserker soldier coming at him, Alfred watched the man turn and retreat back to the house.

"Hey! You're just goin' to leave me here? I'm bleeding again."

The man stopped a moment to look back over his shoulder, "Good. That means you'll attract some hungry animal, and save me the trouble of dirtying my hands any more with you." With that, the soldier sauntered back towards the house and closed the door quietly behind him. With as much of a gentlemanly air one could achieve looking like a drowned rat.

Alfred let out a groan.

What made this Brit so entertaining that Alfred continued to put himself in harms way just to see the man's reactions? Now it seemed he'd found the soldier's breaking point.

_Ugh, __at __the__ rate __I'm__ going __I'll __need __a__ new __arm._

Keeping his arm close to his body, he slowly walked back to the house as best he could. Wincing as each step sent a shiver of pain up his spine. The bone had to have dislodged even further from his mishap in the cellar followed by being pushed in the harbor.

_Think__ it's __time __I__ suck __up __some __pride. __Didn't __think __that __comment __about __his __mother __would__ enrage __him__ like __that._ He paused at the steps leading onto the front porch of his home. Thinking back to the soldier's mentioning of the similarities they both apparently shared. _Did __he __join __the __army__ for __his __own __revenge?__ Maybe __something __had __happened__ to __his __mother __in __England__ and__ his __answer__ had __escaped__ across __the __ocean._

Hearing no movement from behind the door, Alfred tentatively entered the dwelling to see only a few candles lit and no Brit to be found.

His desire to look for the man, however, was quickly won over by the welcoming chair at the table. He almost felt like resting his head down and letting sleep wash over him there than to seek his own bed. He had done nothing but push himself since the assault and he should have been doing the exact opposite.

_It's__ almost __like __I__ want__ to __go__ see __the __doctor __and __his __damn __daughter. __Ugh-__ I'd __rather __die. __Maybe __it's __about __time __to __let __off __a __little __and __actually __try __to__ get __better._

He sunk into the chair with a grunt while rubbing his face with his hand. The warmth of the house was quickly getting to him. He'd be passed out in under a minute if he relaxed any further. Did he want to be asleep when the, probably, still irate soldier returned? A knife in his back would rid him of his pain for good, but could he die without avenging his father?

Alfred moaned into his hand as the cravings of sleep gnawed at him. He needed to get changed into dry clothes or suffer that chill that struck down his younger brother all those years ago.

Toeing off his boots, he brought them to place by the hearth to dry, then, while scowling at the muddy, wet, mess he had tracked into the home, headed for his bedroom to unearth clean garments. He was thankful he had recently laundered some as he was known to neglect doing so. His daily routine hadn't changed in four years so it never bothered him to put it off. Why clean sweaty clothes when you'd be getting sweaty on the morrow anyway?

The sling he had fashioned was in shambles as well as the bandages that now clung to him merely from the water. It would all need to be redone, and he knew he'd need the Brit's help in doing so. The continued realization that he needed help perturbed him, but he couldn't shrug the help any longer. He wouldn't be joining up with the Colonial Army, let alone the militias with a busted collar bone. He'd be lucky to lift a pistol; shooting and hitting a target was another matter all together.

With some difficulty, he had managed to remove his pants and undergarments and was already putting on a clean pair when a knock at his door grabbed his attention; causing himself to stumble and almost finding his way to the floor in a heap.

"Shi- what is it?"

The door creaked open slightly, "I'm quite sure by now you have noticed your head is still bleeding. Do you have any intentions of fixing that?"

Alfred's hand went up to move over the gash on his head. Pulling his hand away he noticed that fresh blood was still oozing slowly from the wound.

The sarcasm was at the tip of his tongue yet remembering back to his earlier mental barrages he pushed his pride away.

"I do-," he paused a moment, still finding the words difficult, and knowing the Brit would find every pleasure in goading him into needing the redcoats help after all.

Swallowing the slowly growing lump in his throat he continued, "-and I'm goin' to need your help... as well."

With those final words the door slowly swung open to reveal the soldier, standing in fresh garments, while holding new linen bandages and a fresh mug of beer in the other. The beer was the most welcoming sight he could have asked for. Yet, the stern look the man held on his face put his desires to rest as he averted his gaze.

"Well, you managed to get on new trousers, I see." Arthur came into the room now, placing the bandages and mug of beer on the nightstand. Alfred did nothing but stand there awkwardly. He still had his shirt on, only a few of the buttons had been unfastened. He knew he'd need help with taking the piece of clothing off completely. He had done so the previous night and about passed out from the stress of it all.

"The shirt needs to go." Arthur now starred at him, waiting for him to attempt the task on his own, which he knew he couldn't. The soldier was just playing with him. Urging Alfred to say those words again to him. Even though Alfred saw this man in a different light compared to his companions in arms, he still had that ingrained, belittling effect on people. No one was better than the British.

_Smug__ bustard. __He's __going __to__ reap__ every __ounce __of __this __and__ I __know __I__ can't __do __anything __about __it._

"I'm... going to need... your-," he swallowed, "-your help... with the shirt."

_That__ bastard __is __fucking __smiling. __He __is __just _LOVING_ this._

Without saying another word, the soldier walked up to Alfred, and slowly began to undo the remaining buttons. Much to Alfred's annoyance, his own heart had begun to speed up once Arthur had finished the final button, and his hands moved up to lightly ghost along the smith's bare shoulders, allowing the garment to fall away.

With the damp shirt removed, all that Alfred wore were the ruined bandages. They were partly falling off now and wouldn't take much effort to remove. Arthur started right in on unraveling them. His long, elegant fingers being deftly agile in making sure the bandages came away clean and didn't catch together near his collar bone.

Alfred couldn't ignore the hiss that escaped the soldier's lips. It was the only sound he had made in the last few minutes and it sent a chill down Alfred's spine. It didn't help when he felt the man's light touch move to the grotesque bruising, and swelling that had enveloped much of his right shoulder.

"This looks terrible. I-I'm sorry for being so rough with you earlier. I didn't realize it had gotten so bad."

The man's face had softened greatly with his gentle words as his fingers continued to lightly inspect the severity of Alfred's injury.

Just his voice made the smith feel weak, and he found himself waving his good arm behind him to locate the bed.

Arthur noticed this and quickly helped the smith sit down.

"You are breaking out into a sweat." Came his urgent voice, "I hope it's not a fever." The back of his hand was now resting against Alfred's forehead. Alfred couldn't help but smirk.

"I assure you, it's no fever."

Arthur took a step back to assess the smith.

"For your sake, I hope not. Now, as for that gash. I was unable to ascertain the extent of that injury last night, but it looks like you will need stitches. It is much to deep and wide to heal on it's own.

_Emm- __I__ know__ something __I'd __like __to __widen __and __go __deep __into._

"I'm not qualified for something like this. I should send for that doctor."

Hearing the mention of the doctor again, Alfred shot up from where he sat and clutched at the soldier's arms. Looking deep into those emerald eyes to catch them on himself.

"There is no getting the doctor. I thought I made this clear."

The man stuttered, "Wha- but, there is no way I can stitch that wound up. I have no training in-"

"Try."

"I'll hurt you."

"I've been through worse."

"I can not-"

"You have to."

The man's eyes faltered away from Alfred's as the smith realized how close he had gotten to the soldier's face. He couldn't help but note the blush that had appeared as well.

Alfred stood back up, releasing the soldier's arms as he did, and moved over to the far window. He heard the soldier shuffle where he stood a moment before the inevitable question was asked.

"Why do you not want me to retrieve the doctor?"

_Why__ am__ I __hiding __this? __It's __not __like __he __would __care._

With a heavy sigh, Alfred turned and rested against the windowsill to scrutinize the soldier in the middle of the room. Concern still laced the man's features and Alfred could not understand how he could care so much for the colonist. Alfred had done nothing for him except put a roof over his head; which was something he had been forced to comply with.

Running a hand through his hair he started, "Well before my father was killed, I was in an arranged marriage with the daughter of the town's doctor." Arthur said nothing so Alfred continued, "I had no interest in her, and still don't, yet she couldn't get enough of me. The doctor, Mr. Shannon, was delighted in the arrangement as a Blacksmith is a prized occupation. We make good money so he supported it. My father as well." He sighed again and turned his gaze to admire the wooden floor, "Upon my father's death, I annulled the marriage. With no family to force my hand, I was a free man."

"I take it she does not share the same feelings." Arthur interjected.

"Ultimately. She doesn't believe the marriage can be annulled. She has left me well enough alone over the past four years. I've also not needed medical treatment within that time, either."

"Perhaps she has moved on to someone else."

Alfred sighed, "I wish that were true. During my few trips into town for supplies and selling my wares she stalks me like I'm some sort of prey. Thankfully, that's as far as it has gotten."

"So why are you afraid to seek the help of Dr. Shannon?"

"She's not his apprentice, but he allows her to learn, so she tends to accompany him on all of his patient visits." Alfred rubbed the back of his neck, "Dr. Shannon was disappointed in my choice, but feels that I will change my mind eventually. He doesn't believe a young man with such a business should go unwed with no children to pass on my trade to."

"What if you meet someone else? You may not love Dr. Shannon's daughter, but have you completely sworn off the prospect of a happy life with anyone?"

There was an odd hitch to the man's words that didn't seem normal, yet Alfred moved past it to answer the soldier's question.

"With hostilities growing between the colonists and the empire, I honestly haven't thought as far as tomorrow, yet. Each day I take as a gift that I'm still here. A long, happy, life with someone there to share in it just doesn't sound plausible for me."

Arthur had went silent at his last words and had moved to the nightstand to retrieve the fresh bandages he had brought along with him. His hand rubbed at his face before turning back around to face the smith.

"I understand. I'll refrain from seeking out the doctor. Have a seat and I'll re-wrap your bandages."

Alfred sensed the soldier had stiffened some. Almost like he had closed something off to the smith, yet Alfred had no idea what or why.

Disregarding it, he walked back to the bed and made sure to follow Arthur's instructions so the wrapping would be more beneficial this time.

"Hold your arms up a little so I can wrap under them." Alfred nodded, and with mild difficulty with his right arm was able to allow Arthur room to wrap the bandage.

The soldier was close again. He knew it would happen, but this time Alfred turned his head away to look out the far window. He didn't want to jeopardize the wrap job again.

_Or __am__ I __just __trying __to __push__ him __away?_

"Arthur, I-"

"I was thinking, maybe Micah's mother would be able to stitch up that laceration. Would you be comfortable with her taking care of it?"

His thoughts were lost at the soldier's deliberate attempt to change the subject. Alfred wasn't even sure what he was going to say.

_Perhaps __it's __better __that __I __didn't._

"Yes, she should be able to do it. Besides, I'm not so sure I'd want you doing it."

"Why is that?"

"After that previous wrap job I can only imagine how you'd do with a needle and thread."

The Brit scoffed at this, "I'll have you know I manage a fine needlepoint. Perhaps a nice design in your skull is what you need."

Alfred laughed, "Needlepoint. Really? Oh, that's too much. Alright, enough of this. Help me into a new shirt and we'll go see Micah's mother before it's too late in the evening. You have patrol tonight, correct?"

The soldier nodded as he went for the aforementioned shirt. "Yes, but not until after supper. There is plenty of time."

With more assistance with his shirt, Alfred was finally back to looking reasonably dignified. As much as a beaten up blacksmith could look. With a better sling for his arm, Arthur secured that around his neck and appeared pleased with the strength of his work.

"How does it all feel?"

Alfred shrugged, "Like a blind man did it."

Arthur slapped at Alfred's good shoulder and then moved to leave the room. "I shall go saddle Hero for the ride. I can assume you will be alright riding?"

"If I'm grounded from a horse because of an injury like this than you might as well put me out of my misery now."

Arthur rolled his eyes and left the smith alone in his room once more.

After hearing the man's footsteps recede, Alfred couldn't help but laugh at his situation as it began to dawn on him.

_Do__ I __really __want __to __try __to __get __close __to __this __man?__ Or __is __this __just __pent-up,__ animalistic __desires __reacting __towards __whatever __human__ contact __comes __my__ way?_

He rubbed at his eyes, wishing for anything to make sense of the emotions that were confused within him. It had been five years since he felt that touch of another person. It had been a man's touch then as well, and Alfred had called it love. Was this some twisted form of love returning? He had promised that young man when he was forced to move south that there would never be anyone else. Yet, Alfred had forgotten it all. Was that love?

Choosing to disregard his thoughts, Alfred finally left his bedroom to retrieve his still damp boots from the fire, and headed out onto the porch. A wave caught his attention by the stables as Arthur stepped out with Hero, saddled and ready for the mile trip down the road.

Alfred smiled and waved back with his good arm as he started to walk slowly towards the two.

One thing, though, had caught Alfred's attention just then; seeing the British soldier lead the black draft horse with unhindered ease. Hero had been known to have a knack for becoming aggressive around the British soldiers. So much that when Alfred would head into town he was given a wide berth. Due to the horse not having harmed anyone there was no outcry to put Hero down. Much to Alfred's delight. It was almost as if he had his own bodyguard.

_But__ what __about __Arthur?__ Does __Hero __sense __something __different __about __him?_

"Never thought I would have the chance to ride such a large horse before. The streets of London rarely saw draught horses due to their size. I think I might need a foot stool like young Micah." Arthur laughed as he patted the horse's neck. Hero whinnied contentedly in response.

"I'd offer you a hand but I'm afraid you'll be the one doing that. Stand on the porch steps. Should be enough to help ya'." Alfred suggested which Arthur agreed to by doing just that.

With the assistance of the additional height, Arthur managed to find his place in the saddle without much trouble.

_Now__ if__ I __can__ do __that __without __looking __like __a__ fool __I__ think __I __can__ survive __the __idea __of __needing __assistance __in __the __first__ place._

Arthur looked down at him, "I find it would be best to come up on the left side like you normally would."

Alfred nodded; just as Hero's head swiveled around to catch the smith's attention.

_I__ hope __you __realize __you __are __the __bane__ of __my __existence __right__ now._

Hero snorted as if he knew his owner's thoughts and tossed his head about almost jovially.

"It seems Hero finds your predicament amusing."

"He'll find it amusing when I skin his hide for a new couch."

Arthur laughed, "Come on then. It will be dusk by the time you find your foot in the stirrup."

Alfred rolled his eyes, and with his left foot secured in the stirrup, the smith took hold of Arthur's proffered hand and was easily lifted into the saddle without straining his injury. Alfred had to admit he was impressed.

"Well, I didn't think you'd have that kind of strength in those tiny little arms of yours." Alfred grinned as he prodded one such arm.

Jerking his arm away, Arthur protested, "just because I show more brains than brawn does not mean I do not keep in shape."

Alfred couldn't contain the devious smirk that crossed his features. He was settled in behind the smaller soldier and their close proximity had begun to take effect on him. The words could not be held back.

"Emm- why don't you prove that by showing me sometime." Alfred allowed his hands to gently rest above the soldier's hips and was delighted to feel the man tense under his touch. Before the soldier could say anything, Alfred had removed his hands and leaned forward to glide them down Arthur's arms to take hold of the reigns.

Leaning his face down next to the soldier's ear, Alfred whispered teasingly, "You seem to be a bit inebriated at the moment. Perhaps it's better that I direct." Alfred then withdrew from leaning down against the soldier's back to sitting up right and only allowing his arms to encircle the man in order to steer Hero.

"Wha- I- hey, you removed your arm from the sling!"

Alfred couldn't help but chuckle, "I like how your mind goes immediately to that."

Alfred couldn't help but notice the red that had crept up into the man's ears as he faced away from the smith.

Arthur's head dipped down to admire his hands while a whisper escaped his lips that Alfred had to strain to hear.

"My mind was certainly in places I didn't want it to be moments prior."

Alfred smiled again, and with an instructed, "Walk on," to Hero, accompanied by a light kick to his flank, they headed off onto the dirt road.

* * *

><p>By the time they had reached Micah's home, Arthur's complexion had worsened considerably. According to the soldier, the gentle ride and an exhaustion the man was unaware he felt was what caused him to drift off to sleep in Alfred's arms. Now the soldier's face could have rivaled that of a tomato. Meanwhile, Alfred was nursing a newly formed bruise on his side where he was fiercely jabbed at by the soldier's elbow.<p>

"I thought you would have enjoyed a short nap. No need to get offended by it." Alfred protested as he slipped down from Hero's saddle.

"Really? I'd say you allowed me to fall asleep just so you could get a few jolly's out of it at my expense. You never thought I would be against finding myself in such a predicament? Imagine if we had been seen by another soldier!"

Alfred watched the smaller soldier spout off while he paced back and forth in front of him. His rage and embarrassment clearly evident, yet it slightly panged Alfred just the same.

Taking hold of Hero's reigns, he walked him over to a nearby hitching post and tied the animal off. Not saying a word as he did which seemed to bewilder the soldier into walking over to confront the smith face to face.

"Are you even listening to me? If we were seen I would have had some serious explaining to do to my commanding officer. Not to mention the rumors that would come of it. You still have not explained yourself, either. I would have expected you to shout back by now. Your injuries finally getting the better of you?"

Alfred grit his teeth as his hands clenched into fists.

_All __he __wants __is __a__ damn __confrontation. __Everything__ he's __saying __is __a __lie __and__ he __knows __it. __He's __just __too __embarrassed__ to __admit__it __to __himself. __Telling __him __he __had __a __smile __on __his __face __when __he __had __rested __back__ into __my __arms __will __only __infuriate __him__ more __into __denial._

Finally finding something to say, Alfred found his height again and glared down at the Brit. He would place the blame on himself if anything. The soldier just wasn't ready to acknowledge himself yet.

"Perhaps I let you sleep cause I enjoyed having you in my arms." Alfred paused, "Is that so hard to believe?"

As suspected, his words caught the soldier off guard but Alfred was saved by a small child running between them to clamp around Alfred's waist.

"ALFRED! Oh, I'm so glad to see that you're okay! I should have rushed to help you. I could have taken on those glorified bullies and sent them swimmin' back across the Atlantic to their mommies. They would have to think twice about takin' on us Americans, again!"

Alfred patted the boy on the head and quickly shot a glare at Arthur. Micah was under the impression they didn't have to worry about Arthur. Yet, he never showed them he would out right disobey orders. Micah's words were that of the rebels, and if Arthur's superiors asked him for names, would he give them theirs?

Alfred would not allow it, and the look he gave the soldier, he hoped, spoke volumes.

"Oh- and Arthur, I'm glad to see you too! You've been takin' care of Alfred's injuries, too! That's very kind of you! I'd never expect a redcoat to be so nice. My mom had been worried when I told her what happened, and she was going to call the doctor for you but I reminded her about Jessie. Unfortunately, that got her into worrying over whether you would ever settle down with a wife and pop out babies to take care of the smithery. I don't think you need any of that cause you're fine on your own, Alfred. And besides, you have me to help you! Oh- and Arthur too!" Micah beamed up at both of them.

Alfred couldn't help but smile as the boy was infectious as ever, however, Arthur's expression was far from jovial. More to the point that it unsettled the smith, and he found himself taking hold of Micah's shoulder to hurry him along to the house.

"Why don't you go prepare us a few slices of your mom's apple pie. We'll be right in afterward." Alfred said to the boy with a smile. Mentioning his mother's cooking seemed like the best way of ridding the boy of them for a few minutes.

"Great idea! Mom just finished baking a few, too! I'll set the table. Don't be long!" Micah called as he quickly ran back to the house and his hollering for his mother could be heard clearly outside.

Now that they were alone once again, Alfred watched as the soldier was still resolute in his expression, while it never once left the spot that Micah had previously occupied. It was a look of shock, yet anger flitted in and out of his eyes. Whatever the man was thinking, it had taken the soldier beyond words, and that was something the Brit was rarely without.

From the words that had been uttered unknowingly by the small boy in present company, Alfred feared the worst from the soldier. You never trust a snake that has been cut in two. It still has the power to bite.

Alfred came within two feet of the soldier who continued to stare at the ground. Not even a flinch, or alteration to his breathing gave Alfred any indication whether the soldier was even aware of where the smith stood. It would be a threat, but Alfred had made himself responsible for Micah and his mother's well-being many years ago. If it came to it, he would end the soldier's life.

"The boy says what we all feel. We have spent enough time in the shadow of the British Empire. Your king refuses to listen and that will cost you. We are Americans and will fight for our freedom. You can take this all however you want. Report our names to your superiors. I will not back down, and if you are hiding behind this caring guise know this-" Alfred paused, quickly grabbing the soldier's jaw to lock his blue eyes with the man's own green ones, he continued, "-I will kill you. On... or off the battlefield, regardless whether I grant your wish for death in doing so. Your death will also not be the last redcoat I lay waste to with my musket buried in their gut."

He released Arthur's jaw and couldn't help but growl at the lack of any reciprocating comments the soldier should have spouted back at the smith.

_Perhaps __this __is__ where __he __leaves __to __report __to __his __commander._

Alfred spat at the ground in front of him as his thoughts began to quickly betray him.

_Yet,__ why __am__ I __feeling __regret __over __the __truth?_

Shaking the thoughts out of his head, Alfred pushed past the mute soldier and headed for the house. Whether the man walked through that door or not would speak Arthur's response immediately.

**A/N: Alright! Sorry for the long delay in updating the story! Had a bit of trouble getting back into Alfred's head after playing with Arthur for so long. ;) Oh, and don't worry about the doctor's daughter. She's just a little plot drama to stir things up. As Alfred has gone on about, he has zero interest with her.  
><strong>

**I had intended on going longer with this chapter but I felt this point marked for a good place to stop. I wanted their to be more smut in this chapter but instead you got a bit of cute mental fluff of a sleeping Arthur in Alfred's arms. D'aaawwww. ;3**

**I'm working on updating the previous chapters with what we have beta'd as we go. Thanks greatly to my lovely Beta, Tobi! As always, her hard work makes this story so much easier to read. Thanks lady! :D**

**As to everyone who has reviewed, faved, and alerted to the fic, I can't thank you enough for your support in the story! Every review, long or short, bad or good, keeps me motivated in hearing your thoughts. Right now, I never expected the amount of feedback I have received while writing this (64 reviews; holy crap that's a lot for someone who never writes fanfiction). So, again, thank you all, and I hope you continued to enjoy, "Quartering Acts". *heart***

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><p><strong>Follow<strong>** me ****on ****Tumblr ****for ****updated ****news**** on**** the ****status ****of**** "Quartering**** Acts" ****as ****well ****as ****USUK**** fanart ****by ****me: **_ahro__. __tumblr__. __com_


	9. Chapter 8

**Quartering Acts**

**By Ahro**

_**Rated M for sexual situations, violence, and language.  
>(WARNING! EXPLICIT CONTENT IN THIS CHAPTER!)<strong>_

**Chapter 8**

"Alfred! Oh, my dear, it's been far too long. Micah has told me everything that happened. You look like an absolute fright. This sort of brutality should have been reported."

Alfred sighed as Micah's mother, Emily, looked over his wounds with a meticulous air about her. She tisked, and tutted at the bandaging job while she began pulling his head down to her level so she could examine the gash. All this fretting over himself, yet, he didn't have an ounce of concern over his injuries where others seemed to have so much. So far, only a few minutes had passed since he had entered the two story home, and still there was no familiar sound of a door opening and closing behind him.

There had been an instant where he wanted to rush back out, to hear reassuring words that the smith's assumptions had been wrong. That the soldier, after having met Americans for the first time, had somehow come up with a brilliant plan to stand against his Empire, and help the colonists win their war for freedom.

_And for Arthur to find a permanent home with me._

"Ugh- Emily, It's not as bad as it looks. I just need you to stitch this hole up." Alfred found his way into a comfortable arm chair and had rested his head in his hand. His thoughts were so far obscured from reality that he couldn't help but find himself pathetic.

_Just his expression when I told him how I felt with him asleep in my arms. It was what? Cold? Disgusted? Angry? Had there been anything warm to it at all? Didn't he want me? Even after my name had escaped his lips in the throws of passion? It was my name._

"Sorry, dear, I'm just still in such a tiff over the thought of what they did to you. Even after you had given them all of those beautifully crafted muskets." The woman fretted in front of him. "Let me just go and grab a few things to patch you up with. Then you can sit and have a fresh piece of pie. It should warm you right up." She said cheerfully as she spun in her step, skirts floating about her ankles as she did.

Alfred barely even heard a word the woman had said as he was left alone in the foyer. Left alone to allow his thoughts to continue to steep.

_Why am I even allowing this man to get under my skin? He's just another Brit, and will mindlessly follow orders like the rest of them. I'm just acting a fool for thinking I could trust him. He knows I'm a rebel now and he has no reason to not report me. Chances are he'd get a promotion for turning me in. Why wouldn't he jump for an opportunity like that? He'd be an idiot if he didn't._

"Alright, Alfred-" The cheerful woman came bustling out from a back room. In her hands she held a wide basin that was sloshing about some sort of liquid before settling it down on a small cabinet. "I've been soaking some thread and a needle in alcohol to try and keep your wound from getting infected. I take it you've kept it clean since yesterday?"

Alfred shook his head at first, but quickly nodded when he realized what she had said.

Emily didn't look the lease bit persuaded, "Right. Well, let's get it clean-er, shall we?" She said with an almost malicious grin that seemed to flit around her face for only a second before it turned soft again. She picked up a small cup and dipped it into the basin before dumping it over the wound igniting a hiss from Alfred as he backed away from the liquid.

"Dammit! What is in that?"

"Whiskey. Much higher proof though. This would put you on the floor before you could order another drink. Now, bend your head down so I can get to work. This has been exposed for much too long." She then proceeded to lift the soaking thread from the basin as Alfred felt his head forced downward to allow the woman better access to the wound.

His head had been bent for only a few moments before he felt her fingers reach down through his hair, part it, and then pinch at the skin. Alfred jolted back in the chair at the sudden pain that coursed from the wound.

"Dammit, Emily!"

"Oh- don't be such a baby, Alfred!"

"You could have warned me you were about to press down there!"

"How else do you expect me to thread your skin back together if I don't hold it?"

"At least let me know first." Alfred couldn't help it as his voice whined the last plea before he settled back in the chair.

"Ugh- I'm going to be threading the needle through your skin now. If you jump while I'm doing it, I will have to start over."

Alfred sighed and nodded as he returned to the position she had him in originally.

This time she seemed to go a bit easier but the smith couldn't help but practically bite his tongue as he felt the needle push through his skin for the first of many insertions.

"Good. You're doing much better. Can you keep that up?"

"Y-yes, ma'am."

She smiled and a hand gently rested on his shoulder. It was warm and soothing, and it was able to help him take his mind off of the pain in his head.

Each press and tug of the needle as he felt his skin being pulled together did not get any better over time. Yet, he was able to endure just by the thoughts of how this pain would be nothing compared to the pain he would be dealing to the Brits when their time would come. His first goal was to end that pig of a general by slicing open the man's grotesque belly and watching as his insides poured out of him. He wouldn't die quickly, and Alfred would find joy in seeing the man flailing feebly to try to keep his organs inside his massive gut. While his life flowed faster and faster onto the ground to dirty the Earth.

_Would I see Arthur on that battlefield as well? With a barrel pointed at me, and orders to fire._

"That's it dear, you're finished. I say, once your friend here came in and held onto your shoulder you relaxed right away. Make sure to thank the man."

Alfred's eyes widened as he listened to her words. Then it dawned on him. That hand; so strong and warm. It had been caressing his shoulder the entire time while his mind drifted to thoughts of killing. It couldn't have been Emily's like he had assumed prior. She would have needed both her hands to work the needle. And still, while he sat there, that hand was still on his shoulder, rubbing soothing circles with their thumb against his shoulder blade.

"Thank you, ma'am, for assisting Alfred with his injury."

_He followed after me._

"Oh, it's not a problem, dear. You've been takin' very good care of him since that assault. He's been alone for so long. It's nice to see him finally openin' up to people again."

"Yes, no one should keep themselves locked away from the pleasures of good company."

_His touch had given me strength through that pain._

"I really wish there were other British soldiers like yourself. Micah has spoken nothin' but great praise of you."

_Just like when he reached out to me in the rain and mud._

A soft laugh.

"That boy of yours is something, really. I am afraid the real me does not stand up to such praises."

_And again in the cellar._

"Such a modest young man. Oh- why don't you and Alfred take a seat at the table, and I'll bring you both out a fresh slice of my apple pie."

_What is this all about?_

"Thank you, ma'am, that sounds lovely."

_His hand... still hasn't moved._

"Very good. Oh, you might have to wake Alfred up. Seems he's drifted off into a daze. Perhaps the pain was too much for him?" A worried tone.

"He will be fine. Think a spot of fresh air will wake him up."

The hand squeezed.

"Alright, dear, be careful. I'll round up Micah. He took off to the beach again for something."

Soft padded footsteps left through a rear door, leaving silence in their wake.

Calm breathing, a steady pulse.

"I'm going outside. Join me if you so desire."

The hand was removed.

As quietly as the man had entered, he left just the same way. As if a ghost that had never even been there.

Alfred lifted his hand to rest on his shoulder where the man's hand had rested only seconds ago. The warmth there meant it was real.

_He had come inside. He did follow me after all that I had said. After I threatened his life once again. I practically begged him to run and report me. Why?_

Bringing his gaze level with the room after having been starring at the floor, he turned to face the front entrance.

_Should I follow him? What will he tell me? Or will he say anything? Perhaps he's already made a decision and just hasn't acted on it yet. Maybe he wishes to lull me into a false sense of security._

With a groan, he quickly rubbed his hand over his face at an attempt to wake himself up. The cool air was sounding quite welcoming.

He finally stood up, surprised when he wobbled on his feet slightly. Had it been from the lack of blood or something else?

Walking to the door, he rested his hand on the knob, and swallowing back any doubt, he pushed through to go greet whatever it was that waited outside.

* * *

><p>A strong northerly breeze hit him the moment the door opened into the afternoon. The smith never realized he had broken out into a sweat while inside until the cool air blew across his arms and face. With it came the crisp smell of a pit fire somewhere in the woods. It helped to lift his spirits and cool him some but then when the man in question stepped out from behind a large maple, he felt himself grow warm again.<p>

The soldier didn't say anything, and only started walking.

Alfred eyed the man yet followed reluctantly. He felt a bit weary at the lack of being armed, but taking in the soldier's attire, he had come along unarmed as well.

Arthur had led him to a small wood shed that was well away from the road, and far enough from Micah's home to be unheard. Was the man hiding a knife somewhere he could not see? Was that how he'd do it? Just a silent kill.

_Would he hold me as I died in his arms?_

The soldier disappeared as he rounded behind the shed. It was the moment of truth. Would the smith be turning that corner to his death? He had wanted to walk into death's warm embrace for so long now. Was this the way he wanted to go though?

_No, I wanted to die fighting the Brits... but I wouldn't want anyone but Arthur to be the one to do it._

Going into this blind, Alfred sighed and followed the same path the soldier had just taken.

He wouldn't defend himself. He wouldn't do anything.

"You desire death so much, that you would walk willingly with a British soldier to a place like this after you declared so openly of being a rebel." Arthur stood facing him in what must be his favorite pose; arms crossed across his chest and his chin held high. Even when to Alfred, there was no looking down at the smith, but he would still look for that prestigious appearance he seemed to favor.

"Since you haven't killed me yet, I think it's safe to say the terms of my death have yet to be written. You want something else."

A smile spread across the soldier's face as he relaxed his stance to look at Alfred.

"The only thing I want is for you to listen."

"You needed to bring me out here to do that?"

Arthur shook his head, still smiling, "Would you rather we chat with a cup of tea by the road concerning your alignment with the rebels? Perhaps another British soldier could walk by and give me a hand in taking you to the gallows."

"I'm surprised you haven't done so already."

Arthur sighed, all joking put aside. "What ever gave you the idea that I would turn you or Micah and his mother in to my superiors?"

Alfred was aghast that the man would even ask something so obvious. "It couldn't possibly be because you are a lieutenant in the British Army. Sent on orders to quarter with colonists and observe for any rebellious acts against the Empire. You _are_ a British soldier, correct? That general didn't address you as Lieutenant Kirkland for a laugh. Or did you wear motley before dawning a uniform.

A smirk lit Arthur's face at the smith's words. "I probably should be wearing motley for being such a fool to have fallen for a rebellious, ill-mannered, sarcastic, drunken, American, blacksmith."

Before Alfred could even comprehend the words he heard, his lips were captured by the soldier's own, and all his previous questions, thoughts, and concerns were suddenly, and completely irrelevant.

The smith felt himself go weak as his back was pushed up against the shed. The smaller soldier having noticed Alfred's obvious acceptance gave the man renewed confidence as he angled his head for better access to deepen the kiss.

Alfred couldn't help but moan as he let his lips part slightly allowing Arthur's tongue to slide inside his mouth greedily. Their kiss grew hotter as Arthur pressed his body against Alfred's, grinding his hips up against the smith's as he did. Their growing desire becoming more evident with the additional friction.

Alfred's thoughts were a mess as any comprehension over his situation had been dashed the moment the man's soft lips touched his own. The smith had brought his uninjured arm up to assist in bringing the soldier's body closer. Pressing at the small of the man's back which caused Arthur to wrap his arms up around Alfred's neck.

Was this what he wanted? To have this man, now in his arms to share in more than just hormonal urges, but to display emotions and feelings he thought had been buried away long ago.

The realization of what he wanted woke up something in the smith, and he wanted it fiercely.

Ignoring the discomfort in his shoulder, the smith extended his right arm from the sling so he could grip the soldier's hips with both of his hands, and flipped their positions in an easy movement. The soldier went along with the change willingly, and Alfred took over as he plunged his tongue into the Brit's warm mouth, inciting a heated moan from the smaller man.

That sound of pleasure urged Alfred on as he withdrew a hand from the man's hips and traveled down to mold against Arthur's hardening member. The soldier jumped slightly at his touch, but quickly went to his belt to unfasten and lower his trousers. Alfred grew even hungrier for the man in front of him as the soldier displayed his need. Alfred's callused hand took hold of the soldier's throbbing cock to give it a few strong strokes, and was rewarded by a guttural moan as the soldier released their lips to rest his head in the crook of Alfred's neck. His warm breath along his bare skin sent shivers through the smith's body.

Feeling more and more daring, and knowing what to do from previous experience, Alfred slicked his fingers with the soldier's pre-cum and glided them to Arthur's entrance.

A gasp escaped the Brit as his arms now clutched tightly behind the smith's strong back, yet no word of protest was uttered. He wanted this as much as Alfred did and the soldier's bucking against Alfred's hand as it continued to stroke him lightly only fermented the soldier's desire.

Taking the initiative, Alfred slowly began to push his middle finger into Arthur's tightness, and the immediate clench of his muscles around the intrusion made Alfred release the soldier's cock to wrap around his back to try to sooth him some. Alfred knew it would be painful as he had experimented with a young man many years earlier before he was forced to move to the south. They had learned how to make it enjoyable though, and once you were past the pain it was pure bliss to the end.

"I-it's alright, Alfred."

Those shuddered words next to his ear made Alfred continue as he slowly pushed more of his finger inside the soldier. A groan escaped him as the smith began to slide in another finger to begin to stretch the small hole. Alfred was surprised when Arthur moved his hips back against his fingers to push them in up to his knuckles.

"You're brave, I'll give ya' that." The soldier grunted as a third finger was inserted, and Alfred began to slide them in and out to prepare the man for what was to come.

_How did we reach this point? Two days, and already confessions of something that normally would take many years to feel for someone. Were the large holes we seem to share in our hearts that desperate to be filled by someone that we simply took to one another so easily?_

"A-Alfred, I... need you."

Those words, gasped out by his neck fueled Alfred's already blazing fire inside him. Alfred then undid his own belt to release his throbbing cock from it's confinement. The head being moist already with need, he used that to run it's length to make it easier to enter the smaller soldier.

Alfred stopped a moment, though, much against everything that screamed inside of him, and maneuvered the soldier so that their eyes could meet again. The soldier allowed it, and their eyes met. Alfred's looking deep into those green spheres, filled with lust, while a light red hue tinged the soldier's cheeks. His breathing was heavy as their breath mingled together in front of them.

There was just something about this man that felt so important to the smith. As if they were alone in this world, and in order to survive they would need each other.

"Are you sure you want this? It will be uncomfortable at first, but I'll make sure to go slow."

"Don't go slow." His voice was heavy as his eyes seemed to bury inside of Alfred's own. "I want to know that this is something real."

Alfred felt like his eyes had begun to glisten at the soldier's words, and instead of allowing any more time to pass Alfred's lips closed around Arthur's once more. He wanted to show this man that he was there and was real. This was no fantasy, and if he could help the soldier move on; from that past that still troubled him to such a point of breaking, he would, and be damned by anyone who tried to change that.

With their lips locked fiercely together, Alfred gripped the lean soldier under his thighs, and hoisted him up against the shed. Arthur immediately wrapped his own legs around the smith's hips to pull Alfred closer to him.

"Ah- are you alright... doing this, I mean, with your shoulder." Came Arthur's worried response between kisses as his hands clutched amidst Alfred's hair.

"Yeah, I can't feel anythin' else but you right now."

That seemed to be the right response, as the soldier's legs tightened their grip and their lips were locked again; this time with Arthur's tongue delving into Alfred's mouth in need.

Nothing else seemed to matter to the smith as he positioned his cock at the soldier's tight entrance. Not their different heritage, positions in society, or that they were both men. Not even the thought of impending war between their two sides would pull them apart. This was what Alfred needed, and now he had to figure out how he would keep it.

Making sure he was still slick, Alfred slowly pushed the head of his cock against Arthur's tight hole, inciting a sharp intake of breath from the soldier.

"Relax for me. Exhale when I push in."

The soldier nodded as he buried his face against Alfred's neck once more.

Hearing the soldier exhale slowly yet loudly against his skin, Alfred pushed against the strong muscle which finally gave way, and the overpowering sensation was already breaking the smith's senses.

"A-Alfred-" the soldier clenched his teeth while his hands grasped at Alfred's back.

Breathing hard, Alfred stammered, "It-'ll go easier... from here. Just... try to control your breathing and relax."

Alfred felt the man nod again against his neck. Trying to regain his own composure, Alfred moved his hips further forward to thrust deeper into the soldier. A gasp came from the man as Alfred moved even deeper until he was able to fill the man completely.

He could hardly stay standing at the sensation of the heat that surrounded his cock, while the soldier pulled at the thin fabric of the smith's shirt.

"Move- dammit."

It was all the smith needed to hear as he grasped Arthur's thighs tighter and began to thrust into the soldier. Slowly at first before they both found a comfortable rhythm.

Arthur's breath whispered against the smith's skin while soft gasps escaped him with each thrust. Those tiny sounds causing Alfred to almost lose himself entirely. He wasn't going to forget about Arthur's needs in place of his own.

"A-Arthur, I-I'm not... going to last much longer. Are you-"

"I'm close, just- don't stop, A-Alfred." The soldier's voice whispered before nipping at Alfred's ear.

With a moan, Alfred picked up the speed of his thrusting until he lost all control over his actions, and spilt his seed deep inside the soldier.

"Ahh- Al-fred!" The soldier grunted his release as his own seed spilled onto Alfred's chest.

The smith couldn't stand any longer as he legs grew unsteady from the recent excursion. Feeling it safer to make their way to the ground, Alfred gently lowered them both down, using the shed to assist in making their decent easier.

Once settled, Alfred pulled out and rested one arm beside Arthur's head on the ground to hold himself up. His breathing was erratic as he starred down at the soldier below him. The soldier seemed less out of breath but his heavy lids gave way his own exhaustion.

Then, Alfred felt the soldier's hand move up to rest along his jaw, brushing a few sweaty strands of blond hair away from his face as he did. The soldier's face then lit up with a grin that caught Alfred off guard.

"Wha-what is it?"

Arthur smiled more, and instead of answering back he wrapped his hand around the smith's neck to pull him down into a soothing kiss. Soft and slow with only care and compassion behind it. Alfred allowed himself to be lulled into the soothing embrace as he lowered to rest on the soldier's chest, lips never parting as he did.

This was something he had been missing from his life, and why it made death so easy to accept. Now, though, things had grown more complicated, yet, Alfred wasn't so sure he was against the added difficulty.

Parting from the kiss, Alfred looked down at the soldier now with his own grin, "I do hope you have some miraculous plan in mind."

Arthur laughed, "The plan was actually lost the moment you accepted that first kiss."

"So you thought I'd reject you? You don't remember the blow job I gave you yesterday?"

"Of course not- but I had no reason to believe you harbored any feelings for me. I thought you just wanted sex."

"If I wanted sex I'd have taken you across that anvil right there, not pleasure you with a blow job."

Arthur blushed, "Yes, well, I can see that now. But that initial kiss would seal all of my doubts."

Alfred cocked an eyebrow, "And has it?"

Arthur smiled again, "I believe it has."

"Than you should, because I think I'm pretty lost now on my own. You were never somethin' I had planned on."

"You think I planned for any of this? I was ready to die just as much as you were."

Alfred laughed, "We make for a pathetic duo.

"I can agree to that one."

Laughing again, Alfred finally found his strength to stand up again, tucking himself away in the process. While Arthur found his own feet, Alfred couldn't help but notice the obvious disarray of his own shirt. Returning back to Micah's home like this would spell a lot of questions.

"What would you say I should do about this?" Alfred pointed out as he displayed the soldier's cum that had stained the blacksmith's white shirt.

The man's face grew scarlet at the blatant evidence of what they had just done. Thankfully, a puddle had quickly grabbed his attention.

"Take it off and soak it in that puddle. We'll say you tripped and fell."

Alfred sent the soldier a very unamused side-long look. "I tripped and fell. That's heroic. How about I passed out from the loss of blood."

"That would make sense considering where all that blood had just been running to." Arthur grinned wickedly.

"So, I take it getting fucked in the ass doesn't change that charming personality of yours at all."

Arthur laughed, "I should say the same for you. I hoped losing some of that pent up sexual frustration would eliminate those mood swings of yours."

"What mood swings?"

"Shit! How long have we been out here for?"

Alfred looked to the sun where it poked through the trees, "I'd say a half an hour. Just count us lucky Micah hasn't come lookin' for us."

"You are right. Mess up your shirt and let us head back."

In agreement, Alfred quickly made his shirt look even worse than before, and once Arthur was able to walk relatively straight, they found their way back to the small home.

* * *

><p>"You're both finally back! Oh- Alfred, what happened to your shirt?"<p>

"I-"

"He tripped and fell in a muddy puddle along the road. It will need to be laundered."

Alfred shot the soldier a glare but Arthur acted as though he didn't notice.

"Absolutely. You could catch your death in that wet thing. Take it off and I'll clean it up for you. I have some spare shirts of my late husbands up stairs, they should fit you well enough."

"Thank you, Emily. You've done so much, I must find a way to repay your kindness."

Emily tutted, "Don't talk such nonsense. You've done more for us over the years than I could keep track of. It is my pleasure to be able to help you out, dear.

Alfred nodded, unbuttoning his shirt and handing it off to the woman.

"Go on upstairs, look in the dresser in the room on your left. There should be somethin' in there for ya'. Arthur, go ahead and have a seat at the table, and I'll fetch you both a slice of pie." The woman then disappeared through the swinging door into the back kitchen.

Taking the woman's offer, Alfred found his way up stairs, eager to put something on. Thankfully, Emily hadn't taken notice that his bandages were still dry. That wouldn't have looked suspicious at all.

Locating the dresser he was able to find a cleanly pressed linen shirt, much like his own, to wear and was glad to find that it fit his frame well. Stepping back to look himself over in the mirror his attention was quickly taken to a small piece of what looked like parchment sticking out from beneath the large frame.

His curiosity getting the better of him, he reached and plucked it out from behind the mirror. Alfred generally wouldn't be the type to pry in other people's affairs, but after seeing Emily's name written in his father's obvious script there was nothing that could stop him.

**_March 1, 1770_**

**_Dearest Emily,_**

**_I'm afraid this letter will reach you too late as my plan will have been successful._**

**_America will find her freedom in the coming years, and I do hope that you strive to live and see that day._**

**_Please keep an eye on Alfred. Some days I wonder if he'll ever return to shore. Perhaps I've smothered him too much on taking over the smithy._**

**_Also, I've enclosed the money I've been saving for our Micah's future. I'm sorry I've been absent in his life, and in yours._**

**_I will always love you._**

**_Yours and forever,_**

**_John F. Jones_**

The letter floated out of his hands, and gently rested on the wood floor at the smith's feet.

His hands shook.

His mouth had gone dry.

His teeth were clenched.

His hands balled up into fists.

"Alfred! What are you still doing up there? Do you need help with putting on that shirt?" Arthur's voice rang up to him as the smith did nothing but stare blankly in front of him. His thoughts ran everywhere, yet nothing was comprehensible.

He didn't even hear the footsteps as they approached him, as well as the voice that had become muffled. He vaguely felt someone shaking him. The tickling of warm breath in his face. His head being jerked to the side by something forceful yet still not feeling a thing.

_He had planned on getting himself killed?_

No one knew who fired the first shot.

Micah is my brother.

"-fred! Al-fred! What the bloody fuck is wrong with you? Can you even hear me? Snap out of it you idiot!" A firm slap across the opposite side of his face finally brought the smith to his senses.

Blinking, he finally noticed Arthur standing directly in front of him. Worry was etched in his eyes even when his face held a scowl. His hands were gripping the smith's arms as if he would run away any second.

"Arthur?"

"Of course it is! What the hell happened? You looked like your soul had been sucked right out of you."

Alfred lifted one hand up to rub at his face until his hand was wrenched away unexpectedly.

"Dear God, do you have a thing for self-mutilation? You dug your nails so deep into the palms of your hands that you're bloody well bleeding!"

Alfred didn't care. Nothing mattered except what was written in that letter.

"Sit down. Let me wrap them up to stop the bleeding. Is this what spending time with you is going to be like forever?"

He vaguely felt his hands being cleaned and then wrapped firmly with clean bandages. The bed he had been pushed onto sank more as Arthur took a seat along side the smith. More muffled words, but his face was suddenly jerked to the side, and all he could see was the soldier in front of him. The soldier that he had just made love to in the forest, with deep worry and concern etched in his features.

"Alfred. Please, talk to me." Arthur's lips lightly pressed to his own in hopes of some response, lingered, and then pulled back.

A sigh finally broke the smith of his silence which caused the soldier to jump. "Alfred, you need to tell me what happened? What has caused you to act like this?"

Alfred's response was that of a slow turn of his head so his eyes could settle on the letter that had spoken to him, and dashed so many of his beliefs within a few sentences.

Arthur gave the smith a confused look, but finally stood up and walked over to pick up the small letter.

His eyes read over it quickly, and until he read the name on the bottom did he look back at Alfred, his face had gone white.

"Is- is this from your father?"

It was a question that didn't need an answer, but Alfred nodded.

Arthur walked back over to take his seat on the bed once more, the letter still clutched in his hands.

A few moments of silence fell between them as Alfred tried to pull his thoughts together into something he could explain. Part of it was speculation, but he had a feeling it was probably the truth.

Wetting his lips, Alfred finally spoke, "No one knows who shot first during the Boston Massacre. While that letter was dated a few days prior to that event. I think, my father may have been involved in inciting the colonists that night. He may have been the one to have set the groundwork for this war."

Arthur's reply came a few moment later. "What are your feelings on this?"

Alfred finally stood up from where he sat so as to give his body something to do while his mind raced.

_How do I feel about this? I knew my father's patience had been growing taxed, but he was always so gentle. Not of someone who would light the flames that would goad the colonists forward in wanting American freedom. Then if this was his idea, why wouldn't he tell me? Or leave me some clue as to what he wanted me to do. Then, what about Emily... and Micah. Was it true Micah was a child born of wedlock? That would make him my brother, and even with that nothing would change between us._

Alfred jumped as his hand had been grasped pulling his attention away from his thoughts, and back to reality. Looking to the hand in his own, he followed the arm until his gaze lingered in Arthur's gaze. A pleading look, and it hurt Alfred knowing that he was causing the man to worry.

"I can't seem to show it right now, but a part of me seems angered that my father would keep this all from me. His plans to rally the colonists into rebellion under secrecy, his death, and then... Micah."

"Micah is your brother."

"Micah is my brother."

"Alfred!" Emily's voice rang up the stairwell which made Alfred run to the landing.

"What is it?"

"I was just wondering if either of you two may have seen Micah. He's been gone for some time now. I know he wanted to spend time with both of you as well."

Alfred looked over his shoulder to Arthur. The soldier's face held a look of worry as he quickly walked over to join the smith.

Knowing he had Arthur there to support him, boosted his courage, and helped clear his mind of the previous situation. His father was dead, and regardless of what he did before life's breath was taken from him, there were more important things happening with those who were still alive. Those who he cherished, and those who he would protect.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Alfred made his way down to stand in front of the shorter woman.

"You said he went to the beach?"

"Yes, he goes down there to collect sea glass. I believe he wanted to give you a present of them, Arthur." She turned, addressing the soldier.

Arthur's eyes met Alfred's and a silent agreement was made.

"We'll go look for him, Emily. You just wait here. I'm sure he's just lost track of time down there."

"Thank you dear. He's always just so eager to please. I'm sure he wanted to find the best pieces to give to you." She held a warm smile as she placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder.

"We'll find him, ma'am."

"I know you will. Do be careful as the tide is coming back in."

Alfred's growing unease must have been evident as Arthur quickly headed for the back door. "Let's get going. Micah won't want to miss supper."

The soldier's words were meant to sound calming but Alfred knew Arthur was as restless to be out of the house as he was.

With the door held open for him Alfred quickened his pace, and once he was clear of the door he broke into a run. He would not stop until he saw that bright smile... of his brother's

* * *

><p>The long beach was empty save for the occasional gull or crab that scurried down by the water. The tide had been at it's lowest forty minutes ago, and had already begun to creep back in. The distant mud flats could be seen throughout the harbor, and the smell made the smith wrinkle his nose.<p>

Arthur finally came up along side him as he tried to catch his breath. His gaze moving up and down the beach trying to spot some sign of the young boy.

"MICAH!" Alfred's voice rang out as he cupped his hands around his mouth. "MICAH! It's time to come in now!"

No response.

"Could he have went back to your house? I did ask him to take care of Crimson for me. Perhaps he rushed back there."

"He might have- wait, what is that?" Something had caught Alfred's attention. It was something, that looked vaguely familiar. It also made his heart race in fear.

Before Arthur was given a chance to reply, Alfred was already sprinting down the beach.

_It can't be. There's no way it could have broken off, and been pushed to shore._

Alfred splashed into the ankle deep water that was slowly coming back in, far out beyond the shore line. The familiar cloth bag coming into view, half floating in the returning tide as he neared. However, one thing, was clearly missing.

Alfred fell to his knees as he grasped at the bag, and quickly he began to feel around for what was suppose to have been concealed inside.

"Wh-what is that?" Arthur's voice came in gasps as he tried to find his breath again.

Alfred didn't reply. Only until his hands brushed against a small pouch did he let out a gasp of shock.

Grabbing at the pouch, he lifted it up out of the water to take a look at it. There was nothing special about the small burlap sack, but the contents that he poured out onto his hands caused him to almost fall backwards.

"Sea glass."

Tiny pieces of the smooth, muli-coloured glass, spilled out onto his hands. Micah had been here.

"Micah! Micah, where are you?" Alfred stood, now anger in his voice, still laced with fear at what the boy had found.

"Alfred." Arthur's voice was shaken now, and Alfred quickly turned to see where Arthur had moved off to.

Alfred stood and followed to where Arthur was looking at.

Amidst the smooth sand, what he hadn't noticed before, were multiple sets of hoof prints, along with a mess of sand that looked to have been turned up due to a scuffle. Alfred looked off to see that the hoof prints had all ran back along the beach from where they had come, which ran far from the direction of Alfred's home but to the city.

"What do think happened?"

Alfred lifted his hand to stare at the colored pieces that laid there. Alfred was to blame for this. The boy had came across the bag due to the low tide. It had to have broken off it's anchor, and had been pushed to shore with the tides. The muskets were gone, and so was Micah.

"British soldiers found Micah with unmarked bronze muskets. Contraband... that I forged myself." Alfred turned to look at the soldier, "They've taken Micah in on the charge of smuggling."

**A/N: A lot has happened in this chapter, and on a personal level, I hope it makes up for chapter 7's short comings. (I wasn't too happy with how that one played out. Probably going to rewrite that one.)**

**I hope you enjoyed this one as much as I did in writing it! There is a lot more story to be had with "Quartering Acts" and I do hope you continue to read and enjoy it! :)**

**I also love to hear your feedback, so do please leave a review on your way out! :D**  
><strong>Thank you all for your continued interest in "Quartering Acts", and I hope everyone is having a lovely holiday season! :)<br>**

* * *

><p><strong>Do check out my tumblr for status updates for "Quartering Acts" as well as USUK fanart by me: <strong>_ahro. tumblr. com_


	10. Chapter 9

**Quartering Acts**  
><strong>By Ahro<strong>

_Rated M for sexual situations, violence and language._

**Chapter 9**

Staring at Alfred during those few moments as realization hit him, felt like Arthur had been watching a hanging. Time would stop as one waited for the inevitable. Once that rope had been tied there was only one direction to go in. Those rope burns; marring the dead's necks of their convictions. Now, in the failing afternoon light, Arthur could have sworn a faint bruising was ringing around the smith's own neck.

"Alfred-" Arthur started, watching the man carefully for any signs that the smith would be spontaneous in his actions. "Irrational thoughts are not what Micah needs right now. I'm a British officer, I can talk to them." Arthur had slowly found his way closer to the smith; approaching as if the man were a tiny bird ready to take flight at the slightest provocation.

The smith had proven to be rather unstable due to his confinement from society for four years (beyond business interactions). Even with Emily, Micah's mother, he had been there to help her over the years, but rarely spoke with her outside of business. Arthur assumed, during the lashing Alfred received on speaking out for Emily's well-being, the man hadn't uttered a sound as blood pooled at his feet.

"Those muskets could have come from anywhere. They have no proof you made them, and to charge Micah of smuggling! That's just-"

"Not out of the question."

Arthur stopped. Alfred didn't say anything else, allowing the single sentence to linger between them. As if to make his words seer into Arthur.

_ Children being used to smuggle contraband? They could not possibly be going that far._

"Do you mean to say, that children have been used in such a manner before?"

"Arthur, Micah is nine years old. He understands and can follow orders. Children are so easily seen as innocent that they are the least to be suspected. Findin' Micah at the water's edge with a sack of muskets- you're tellin' me you wouldn't immediately report the boy?"

Arthur looked back at the floating cloth in the water, then to the small sack of sea glass that Alfred still clutched in his hand.

"I would have looked further into it than to judge merely by appearance. Had I found him with the muskets, and then saw what the boy had been on the beach combing for, I would have let the boy go. Confiscating the muskets in turn."

"These children are trained to have such things as these-" Alfred shook the bag at Arthur, "so they don't look suspicious in case they are caught. Like what happened here." The smith bent down to pick up the cloth bag to examine it. His head shook, while he gripped the cloth in his hand, a grimace on his face. "And now they've taken him, all because of my own damn ignorance!" He pitched the soaked cloth down into the water with a heavy splash. His rage finally seeping through what little willpower he had had to contain it.

Arthur knew what was coming, and he moved in front of the smith before he could take that first step.

"Get out of the way, Arthur."

"For what?"

"Get out of the way."

"For WHAT? So you can go have yourself killed?"

"So I can save my brother!" Alfred's gaze had been looking off, past Arthur, and to the city. Now, it had fallen on the soldier's own green eyes with such a ferocity Arthur wasn't sure the chance still remained to be able to change the colonist's mind.

"Alfred. Just... explain to me your plan. I want to help you save Micah, but I can not do that if you rush into this and leave me behind."

Alfred's form shook with the urgency to run.

_If his final desire is death, then I won't be able to stop him. But if what we shared in the woods meant anything, the least he can do is allow me to be there in those final moments._

"Don't- leave me behind, Alfred." His voice hitched, as sudden memories flooded back to him.

_"Mummy! It's my birthday today! Could we go to the park?"_

_ "That's wonderful, dearest, but your younger brother is sick. I'm afraid there won't be any park today." _

_I had sulked off. _

_"Mummy, could you read me a story before bed?" _

_"Not tonight, dear, your younger brother kept me up all last night, so I must retire early. Perhaps another time." _

_I grew angrier._

_ "Have you heard the news? Mrs. Kirkland bore an illegitimate child. Simply degrading. Her filth should not be around privileged folk as ourselves." _

_"I daresay, her poor husband must be beside himself with shame. What of the other poor boy? To have his life altered so vastly because of his mother's sin." _

_"They were such a respectable family, too." _

_My world crashed down around me. _

_"Big brother! Please! Hurry! The water is rising too quickly!"_

_ "I know! Hang on, I'll go get mummy!" _

_But I didn't. _

_I let him drown. _

_Because I hated him. Hated what he did to my family. Hated what he did to my mother. Yet, she loved him still. Always over me. Always, left behind._

Alfred's gaze seemed to have softened some. Had the soldier's expression changed when that rush of memories returned? Did he say something out loud and not realize it?

"My plan is simple. Turn myself in, and explain that Micah had nothing to do with the muskets." Alfred let out a sigh as he looked down to the few pieces of sea glass in his hand. "However, they will not believe the word of a rebel. That is where I will need your help." His gaze, returning to the Brit's as one large hand moved to rest on his shoulder.

"You need me to speak up for Micah."

A nod.

"So you will just let them hang you. After all the work you have gone through to aid in your rebellion you'll just hand them your life."

"Casualties of war."

Arthur gritted his teeth as he turned his gaze away from the smith. His shoulders now giving away his emotions as they shook under the man's calm touch.

Life always seemed to give him something wonderful, and then take it from him. He had loved his younger brother, but then he began to take his mother away from him. Then, his home was taken away from him. Now, something he wasn't even sure what to call.

Alfred continued to stare at Arthur. His eyes curious to see the soldier's response, but holding a knowledge that regardless of what he said no longer mattered.

"Just... give me one day. I'm sure I can learn some information when I go out on patrol tonight. Chances are they will hold Micah to lure out any rebels they believe he is associated with. It would be folly to turn yourself in now."

Alfred just continued to stare, and it was beginning to fuel Arthur out of sheer annoyance.

"Will you fucking answer me! You want to rush off to your death yet you stand there like a bloody wall!"

"One day then."

Arthur paused before his tangent continued. "You will wait then?"

His gaze finally broke from Arthur's as he looked off to the tree line, "I need to see someone about a musket order."

"Is this a habit of yours? Whenever you need to be serious you speak in riddles?"

Alfred had moved past the soldier on his way back to Micah's home, but paused to look back over his shoulder. "I owed those muskets to someone. I need to report that they've been stolen. You're givin' me a day, right?"

Arthur nodded.

"First though, a mother needs to know her son will be home safe." Alfred then turned, and jogged back to the home they had previously left, leaving Arthur standing in the surf.

* * *

><p>He didn't wait to see where Alfred's next move would take him. The moment the smith had left his sight, he had turned and began to walk back to Alfred's home, sticking to the beach as he did. He needed to get into his uniform, and prepare Crimson for his evening patrol. Tonight would require him to be on his guard, yet remain calm as to not lead on that he knew of any recent happenings. A stop at the pub again could provide valuable leads.<p>

However, Arthur was having trouble curving his thoughts from Alfred.

_There's no doubt those muskets were meant for the rebels. He must have contacts he's reporting to. I pray they can give him some help, or at best, talk some sense into that fool. The rebels will need as many skilled blacksmiths they can get. For him to get himself killed now would only be selfish to the cause he's trying to fight for._

Before he realized it, the familiar smithy began to come into view around the tall pines and maples. The distance he had traveled felt like it had passed far too quickly for having gone by foot, but he was thankful in seeing it. The sooner he could get out on the road the better. Perhaps he would go meet the young ensign early.

_Now that I think of it. Where was Berkley? Could he have had a hand in taking Micah from the beach?_

His thoughts took him to his bedroom where his uniform still lay folded where he left it the day before. Shrugging the heavy coat on, and making sure his attire was well fitted, he belted on his sword and holster.

Then, his eyes rested on the pistol. The pistol that he had aimed at the man who had just held him in his arms, and brought more meaning to his life than he would have deemed possible at any other time before.

Picking it up, he decided to take a moment to examine exactly what modifications Alfred had mentioned he had done to it.

_For our gunsmith to have been impressed with his work. There must be something special about his father's trade._

Weighing the pistol in his hand, there was an obvious lightness in the flintlock now that he hadn't noticed before. Turning it around in his hands, he brought it closer to pick out exactly what the smith had done. There were no obvious exterior changes the smith could have altered, however, the shock when he looked down the barrel almost made him drop the pistol completely.

_What on earth are these grooves down the barrel?_

Thinking back, the smith had fired it without any problem, so whatever the part the grooves played in the weapon's function was lost on him.

Making sure to ask Alfred once he met up with him again over the strange alteration, he holstered the weapon while picking up his own musket to head off to the stable.

* * *

><p>He hadn't meant to, but the moment he had mounted Crimson he had woken her with a quick jolt into a fast gallop down the dirt road he had traveled earlier; asleep in Alfred's strong arms. There had been a glimmer of hope that Arthur hadn't taken too long, and Alfred was still at Micah's home.<p>

Yet, he found disappointment upon no longer seeing the massive black draught horse tethered out front. It panged him, but he knew the walk back to the smith's home had been a long one. Alfred would have wanted to be off as soon as he could.

_I wonder how the news went over with Emily._

He lacked the willpower to go in and see the woman while he was in his uniform. Seeing a British soldier, even one who was here to help her, might stress her beyond what steel limits she seemed to possess.

Now, he wondered where the young ensign would be at this hour. The man's blue roan was no where to be found. It was nearing the time for them to be meeting for patrol. The lad had been so punctual the previous night, had he been given ulterior orders?

_Perhaps he is somewhere near the main settlement. Surely, they wouldn't have sent the boy to Boston._

* * *

><p>He had ridden about the main roads with no sign of the ensign, and Arthur was beginning to suspect the boy had been sent to Boston as part of the escort for Micah. At least he could trust the boy wouldn't be harmed. Berkley would know Micah, and in turn Micah would be with someone he was familiar with; even if the ensign couldn't do much else for him.<p>

"Dammit all!" He cursed aloud as he turned Crimson quickly to ride back down the road he had recently come down, in-sighting odd looks from the colonists as they made their way back home for the night.

_That pathetic excuse for a general. He could have sent some word to notify me of this change._

"Sir! Lieutenant Kirkland! Sir!"

The cry made Arthur pull up on Crimson's reins quickly as she reared up and trumped her distress. Arthur held on with skilled practice as he turned her to face the approaching soldier.

The man was out of breath as he approached on foot. Arthur gave him a moment to recover so as he wouldn't have to stutter out his message.

"Lieutenant Kirkland, sir." He saluted, "I have a message for you from General Dereks." A sealed piece of parchment was handed up to the soldier.

"Thank you, ensign. You are dismissed."

"Yes, sir." He saluted and was off, back in the direction he had came from.

Breaking the seal, he quickly garnered answers to his recent questions he had been fretting over. Many he had answered himself only now being confirmed in truth.

**_29 August 1774 _**

**_Lieutenant Arthur Kirkland, _**

**_Recent events have taken my interests to Boston. We have a suspected smuggler in our possession, along with rebel contraband. A small group of soldiers are on their way to Quincy from Boston to relieve you of your position there and you are to report to Boston at 0700 on 31 August 1774, for further briefing. _**

**_Sincerely, General Brandon Dereks _**

_So they have taken Micah to Boston, along with the muskets Alfred crafted. While I'm to report there as well. Why would they want me? I haven't been here long enough to give them any information._

Looking back over the note again to see if anything else was decipherable, he found new interest in the group of soldiers that were being sent to man Quincy.

_They must plan on heightening security in the area, as Micah wouldn't have been the one to make those muskets. Their expecting Alfred and whomever he's associated with will give themselves in for Micah's sake._

A slight laugh escaped him as he realized just how right they would have been; except they were unaware of his own involvement now.

_So, what does that mean, exactly. Am I ready to go against my people, my country, all because one man captivated me? I haven't seen enough of this new world to base my opinion on whether their desire for freedom would be beneficial to them. Just their desire to rebel against the British Empire is fool-hardy enough. Could they manage on their own? Do they deserve to be free? After everything the Empire has given to them, they just want to squander that good faith because of a few taxes? We're at war in Europe, of course we need the support from our colonies. Surely, the acts that have been passed over the years would have been repealed once our war had been won._

He had been riding slowly towards the edge of town, and had been greeted by the familiar laughter of the tiny pub he had been a patron of the previous night.

Stopping Crimson just outside, he looked in to see only a few British soldiers were enjoying their drinks compared to that night.

_The General must have taken a large number of men to escort little Micah to Boston. Afraid of an ambush, perhaps?_

"Why won't you stop this foolishness? You're injured! You should be resting!"

"I only came to talk to your father, Ms. Shannon. My injuries have been seen to and will heal just fine. I'm sorry, but I must be going now."

Arthur almost fell off his horse upon hearing the familiar smith's voice from thirty yards away. He had, thankfully, been concealed in the shadow of a few large oaks when he heard the conversation.

_Ms. Shannon. That must be the doctor's daughter. Why does Alfred have business with him? I had thought he was avoiding that family like the plague._

A loud snort and the jostling of a saddle could be heard as Arthur assumed Alfred was mounting the large draught horse.

_That idiot, his injury is never going to heal._

"See that! You winced. You're still in pain, Alfred! Why don't you stay and I can give you something to help with that."

There was a pause, "and we could spend some time catching up since you agreed to my father's terms."

Arthur froze.

There was another pause, only broken up by the annoyed thumping of Hero's hoof in the dirt road.

"I'm afraid I haven't the time right now, Ms. Shannon. Your father's terms also require me to take haste if they are to succeed." Alfred's words paused as he seemed to choke on what was to come.

Arthur felt his grip tighten on the reigns.

"However, I will come to call on you when I return. We have-" he paused again, "a wedding... that needs to be planned."

Arthur felt himself go limp.

The sudden shout and accompanying whinny just barely pulled Arthur back to reality when the large black horse barreled past him at full gallop. The blond hair as it raced past him was a blur, but the soldier could have swore he saw those bright blue eyes flash in his direction.

* * *

><p>By the time he had made it back to the smith's residence, the sun had set and his stomach seemed to have completely forgotten what food was.<p>

_Have I really not eaten anything in almost two days?_

His mind had been racing since he had overheard that fateful conversation in town. So much so, he had deliberately taken the longest route possible back to the blacksmith's home, and then retraced it again for good measure. He could not avoid the smith forever, and part of him had hoped the man still wasn't home.

Bringing Crimson into the stable, however, dashed that hope upon seeing Hero tethered up in his own stall.

_ Perhaps he may have taken the boat off shore._

He found himself wandering across the grounds in hopes of prolonging the inevitable, yet after going to the dock, the forge, and even the outhouse, there was only one place the smith would be.

Entering the small dwelling, Arthur was visited by an emptiness he thought that only he could feel. A single candle was lit in the center of the room, casting ghostly shadows against the walls. The solitary light source seemed to add to the despair. Had the room been completely dark, Arthur thought he would have felt better. Now, the small flame just enhanced his longing for someone, yet at the same time a need to push them away. Arthur suddenly felt like just another shadow on the wall.

A shiver ran down Arthur's spine as he noticed the damp chill that had settled through the house as well. Rubbing his hands along his arms for some semblance of warmth, Arthur went about the room lighting the small lanterns, and bringing up a fire in the hearth. It wouldn't take long to shy the chill out of the home now.

Arthur watched the flames dance about the red brick in the hearth, allowing the rhythm to relax him. His shoulders drooped to help alleviate the tension that had built up in him over the past few hours. The strain of the long ride had worn him out as well.

_What I would do for a cuppa tea._

Emotions he had to overcome after leaving town had been something he hadn't faced in years. Being able to drown himself in the warm, soothing aroma would have lifted his spirits for what was still to come. Having been all over the grounds, Arthur was still perplexed at where the smith could have been. He hadn't scowered the house yet, but it had been so quiet since he entered he wasn't sure if the man was even home. Maybe he had walked down to Micah's to see how Emily was fairing.

Finally pulling his gaze from the flames, which took an unnecessarily large amount of effort, he turned back to the door only to be pierced by that same pair of blazing blue eyes.

"A-Alfred. I-I thought you might have been sleeping." He lied, stammering as he did, but he couldn't admit he had been searching for him, or rather looking to avoid him.

Alfred stood there in complete silence. The light from the lanterns just barely reaching the entryway, giving the smith a soft glow to his features.

He appeared to be breathing heavily, and his hair had been mussed up from one too many times of his hands brushing through it. Had he been anxious? Stressed? His calm attitude on the beach while making a decision to hand over his life seemed simple to him.

"W-why don't you sit down? You look like you have been through hell."

In two long strides, Alfred was in front of the soldier. Before Arthur had even realized it, his face was being held and his lips taken by the smith's own.

Arthur's eyes fluttered shut as his mind finally focused on his situation. His lips parted and he felt Alfred's hot tongue push into his mouth to deepen the kiss while moving the smaller soldier against the wooden table behind him.

A gasp escaped the soldier as he felt himself lifted onto the table and Alfred's hands moving down his sides to tug at his shirt. It wasn't until the smith's hands found his bare skin that Arthur realized what was happening and pushed against the larger man.

Their lips parted last, and all Arthur could do was avert his gaze while Alfred stood there staring. Staring knowingly as realization began to light his features.

_Yes, Alfred, I heard your conversation._

He couldn't say it. He didn't want to even acknowledge it. He had found some semblance of happiness when he was in Alfred's arms. Something that he didn't want to lose.

Silence lingered between them, and it slowly ate away at Arthur. He wished he could just forget everything he had heard and go back to when it never happened. Figure out some way for Alfred to have avoided the situation entirely. But what was the situation? What had he needed to talk to the doctor for that would lead him to make such a promise?

Alfred's voice came out in a rasp, "It was you then."

A slow nod was given as an answer. Arthur continued to keep his gaze averted to the side.

"How much did you hear?"

Arthur bit his lip, still with his eyes averted. "You... made some arrangement with Dr. Shannon-" he paused to swallow the lump that had been growing in his throat, "-which required you to repeal your annulment with his daughter."

There they were. The words were out. Floating before them like stagnant air filled with the aroma of death. Arthur felt like he was suffocating.

Alfred moved to lean against the kitchen window that overlooked the harbour. His good arm resting against the cold pane to allow his forehead a cushion. His breath fogging up the window. Slow and steady. A calm seeming almost otherworldly.

A sigh escaped him as his thoughts finally were ready to be put to words. Words Arthur wasn't sure he really wanted to hear. "Dr. Shannon is the head of the Quincy militia. Four years ago, I was assigned to craft those muskets." He paused for a moment. Seeming to contemplate his choice of words.

_He still isn't sure if he can trust me._

Alfred stood back up and turned to look at Arthur. His eyes held a deep determination, and a knowledge that what he was about to say would be going against something he had sworn to protect. "Those muskets-" he paused, "are more important to our fight for freedom than you realize."

Arthur slid off the table to fix his shirt as he walked over to the fire again. He had grown cold quickly after Alfred had moved away.

"So you vowed to marry his daughter again over muskets."

"Don't start jumpin' to conclusions, Arthur! Do you really think I wanted this?"

Alfred had quickly intercepted between Arthur and the hearth he had been staring into. His chin was lifted up, but his eyes never even saw the sky.

"Along with Micah, I need to get those muskets back. Dr. Shannan has-" he paused again, though this time he bit his lip out of concern over his next words. 

_Maybe he is right in not trusting me._

"He has British loyalists that are actin' as spies in Boston. They can get the muskets out, but I need to turn myself in to help divert attention, as well as clear Micah's name. This also needs to be done quickly before their gunsmith can examine the muskets completely." He looked away momentarily, "I- also am askin' if you might help in persuadin' them in lettin' Micah go. I'm sure they won't believe me about Micah, as they would gladly hang both of us."

Alfred had let go of Arthur's chin as his strong hands had moved down to grasp his arms. An almost begging look coming into his eyes now as he bent down slightly to match Arthur's gaze.

"Why not ask me in the beginning? I would have gladly assisted you in saving Micah."

Alfred grimaced at his words. "I knew I could, but, it's not just about savin' Micah. I need to get those muskets back."

He had thought his temper was in check, but Alfred had just pushed him past being able to hold onto it.

Wrenching his arms out of Alfred's grasp, Arthur backed up away from the smith. His expression must have screamed his rage as Alfred's eyes grew wide in shock.

"So, you believe weapons is all that you need to win this war? How about men who can shoot. Your militia men are nothing more than farmers. Do you honestly believe your people can stand up to the British Empire?"

Arthur couldn't help it, as his thoughts came spewing out. His anger had gotten the better of him, and he had disregarded just how much Alfred had dedicated himself to seeing a free America.

A fleeting moment of regret stung him as Alfred's expression went from shock to a blank stare. As if the soldier's words had cut deeper than any sword.

Alfred made to speak for a moment, than closed his mouth, until finally deciding his next move.

"Fine then. You want to see exactly why we need these muskets back? Then follow me." Alfred grabbed a lantern from off a hook on the wall, and stormed out through the front door, leaving Arthur to contemplate exactly what this man had in store.

_His priorities lie with his men, then perhaps I should rethink my own priorities._

* * *

><p>Alfred had set the lantern on the wood chopping block and had walked a good 300 yards away. Arthur was confused by this but decided to head over to him, yet still keeping a fair distance from the man.<p>

He was quiet, and was holding the same musket that had caught his attention in the forge the other day when he had gone to seek out the smith. The day after he had pointed his own pistol at the man's head.

_He is going to kill British soldiers. Perhaps I should have pulled the trigger when I had the chance._

_ And again afterwards, when I saw the word 'Liberty' etched into that exact same musket._

"See the lantern." It was dark, so the lantern as a target had been smart. However, the distance was far too great for a musket.

"Yes, but the distance is too great. At best you may hit it at a hundred yards." Even in the dim moonlight, Arthur could see the smirk that lit up the smith's face.

"No, 300 yards." Taking the musket, he shouldered it on his good arm, cocked the pin, aimed, and fired.

In a puff of smoke, and the sharp, familiar sound of a musket being fired, Arthur watched, and was amazed when he saw the light in the lantern go out, followed by the sound of glass shattering.

"The barrel is rifled. It allows the ball to spin, which adds accuracy as well as distance. Your men would still be marching across the field to come within range, and we would already be reloading for a second shot. So long as fear from already fallin' comrades didn't scare them off." Alfred then turned to face Arthur, grabbing the soldier's attention away from staring at where the lantern had once been.

"That's why we need these muskets back. This is what is going to assist us in winning this war: range and accuracy. My father adopted the German's rifling techniques during the time he spent hunting in Pennsylvania, and combined them with the common military grade musket. It was something that could be disguised, and it's something that I don't want the Brits to learn about." Alfred paused. Arthur just watched in silence. "It's why I accepted Dr. Shannon's terms, and it's taken every fiber of my being to not run back there and tell him to forget it." The smith moved closer to the soldier. Never averting his gaze as he did.

As the man neared, Arthur felt himself unconsciously take a step back. This froze the smith where he stood. His blue eyes holding a longing to them now, but a mask was quickly pulled down over them as he looked away. His grip tightening on the musket still in his hand.

"Arthur," there was a long pause as the smith stood there. The cold was biting now, and Arthur had a sudden urge to usher the smith back inside due to his simple dress. It was a fleeting moment though.

With a heavy sigh, Alfred finally broke the silence, "Arthur. I would rather be hung tomorrow, than to live a life without you."

Thankful for a sudden, brisk, northerly wind, Arthur didn't want the smith to notice his shoulders had begun to shake.

"You would rather-" Arthur repeated, taking another step away from the smith. Remaining mindful of his voice as to not let on his true emotions. "It is too little too late, Alfred. Plans will have already been put into motion by the doctor. There is no going back on your word to his daughter now, and as a gentleman, you should never break your vow to a lady."

With his final words, Arthur turned to head for the stable.

"W-wait, Arthur! Where are you going?"

Arthur paused as he lifted his gaze to sky. Remembering now that he would be forever tormented by that sunny sky above him. Perhaps returning to England would be in his best interest. His past could not hurt him any more than this could.

"I will help clear Micah's name for him. They should let him go. From there, I have been reassigned to stay in Boston. If you manage to escape your conviction alive," Arthur paused to turn and face the smith who stood stalk still from his previous position. A deep frown etched on his face as he looked on to the soldier. Somehow, Arthur felt that that frown would be there for sometime to come.

"-then next we meet, will be on the battlefield."

**A/N: So~ did not meet the word count that I had wanted, but this will have to do. **

**You knew it would be coming. This is following the American Revolutionary War after all. I did take some liberties with the rifled musket. It was true that the longrifle had a major factor in securing the victory for the colonists, however, the modified musket that Alfred's father creates isn't technically made till years later. **

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Lots of interesting times to come. :3**

** As always, thank you for the reviews, favs, and alerts! You guys are all too awesome! Seriously, the hetalia fanbase is pretty boss. :3**

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><p><strong>Follow me on Tumblr for status updates for "Quartering Acts" as well as USUK fanart by me:<br>**_ahro. tumblr. com _


	11. Chapter 10

**Quartering Acts**  
><strong>By Ahro<strong>  
><em>(Warning contains explicit sexual content, violence, and language.)<em>

**Chapter 10**

_Damn him!_

The wet mud splashed up against the red mares flanks as the soldier pushed her.

_Damn me; for falling for such a dolt._

The rain was coming down in sheets as he plowed through the dark roads. The wind tore into him, sending the rain into his face like needles. The heavy breathing from his mount barely audible over the crashing of the storm. It seemed to have come out of nowhere. Once he had mounted Crimson and left the stable, he had taken a final look only to find the smith had vanished from the yard. It was enough of an answer from the smith that he didn't care what Arthur did now. So as he had stepped out onto the road the sky seemed to open up around him.

_All he cares about is his fucking revenge! I was nothing more than a convenient lay._

_ "I think I'm pretty lost now on my own."_

_"I would rather be hung tomorrow, than to live a life without you."_

_"...live a life..."_

_"...without..."_

_"...you."_

"ARG! That is such BULLSHIT!"

His cry of outrage startled Crimson, trumpeting her discomfort to add to the additional cracks of thunder overhead. He knew he should find someplace to wait out the storm, but his anger was fueling him forward. All he knew was north. He wanted to be in Boston by sun up; to put Quincy far behind him, and the blacksmith even further. He would help Micah. The boy did not deserve to be blamed for Alfred's crimes against the Crown. Alfred would turn himself in, and Arthur would make sure Micah was let go unharmed. He would see him swing, along with his desire for freedom.

"Dammit- I'm such a fool."

For once the soldier could be thankful for the rain, as it masked the tears that would have propelled him to turn around.

"H-Hello?" The sudden voice split through the darkness as if a beacon, causing Arthur to pull up on Crimson's reins. It would have gone completely unnoticed by any other as it was barely audible over the heavy rain and winds, had Arthur not been yearning for an excuse to turn around he would have plowed right on past.

"Who's there? Show yourself!" His voice just reached above the sound of slapping rain against mud as he shielded his eyes in hopes of making out some form in the dark. No reply was forthcoming as Arthur spun Crimson around to survey his surroundings only to realize he had no idea where he was exactly. He had been traveling at full-gallop down a small dirt road for however long it had been. Time had completely escaped him, yet he knew he had not passed any other townships along the way. His route had been wrapped in darkness, with the rain heavy clouds above blocking the light of the moon as they drowned the land below. The idea of north had become like a mantra to him. Anything to spur him forward without looking back.

Still with no reply, Arthur turned Crimson back around to continue onward, yet his gaze lingered on the road from whence he came.

_No. There is nothing there for me anymore. Had I known he wouldn't stray from his path for revenge I would have never allowed him to get to me._

_"Don't lie to yourself, Arthur. You always lie."_

"What? Who's there? Show yourself now!" His sword was unsheathed in seconds, knowing too well his pistol and musket were useless in this rain. He pitched Crimson around in tight circles in hopes of catching someone off guard amidst the downpour.

_"You've lied to cover up every misdeed in your life, and now you feel a lie will cover up your true feelings."_

_No, there isn't anyone here. It's that damn voice._

"ARG! Get out of my head!" With a hard kick to the mare's flanks, she whinnied and charged forward once again.

The wind whipped the harsh rain against his face as he fled through the densely overgrown road once more. Low branches slapped against his arms and legs, cutting and drawing blood even through the thick fabric of his coat from the severity of the lash. The road appeared to grow thinner as he tried to bring distance between the soldier and whatever lingered behind him. Be it in his subconscious or not.

"Faster, dammit!" Kicking Crimson's sides more, she let out a cry as her chest heaved from the unfamiliar exertion. Her breathing coming heavy and more labored to Arthur's ears.

_"You'll kill her."_

"Keep going!"

_"Just like how you killed your younger brother."_

They were airborne, and for a moment Arthur believed whatever the voice was had caught up to him now, and he had been lifted up as if a puppet on a string. That voice that had followed him from London. The voice that now resembled-.

"Alfred-"

Icey cold water surged up and over him as he felt himself pulled from Crimson's saddle. The sheer force of the current forcing him down the river like he was nothing more than a stray leaf in it's grasp. So easy to cast aside in it's wake. Arthur felt his body tumble about underwater. Completely disoriented as to what direction would bring him air, he felt his body slam against monstrous rocks and boulders that were lodged in the river bed as the current pulled him further downstream. Perhaps this was it. He was meant to drown, just like his younger brother.

_"Exactly how I let him die. I was destined to meet that same fate."_

Then all went dark.

* * *

><p>"He's a damn redcoat! You should have left him there to drown!"<p>

"And only a Lieutenant at that. Hardly worth using to ransom for the boy."

A pistol was cocked and heavy footsteps moved closer.

"I'll save us all the trouble and drive some lead between his eyes."

A quick scuffle and a trigger being pulled released the loud crack from the gun going off.

"There will be no senseless killing while I am in charge of this unit!"

_That voice._

"Senseless! That boy will just as soon stick a knife in your back as he would the rest of us, Jones!"

_Not just the voice from before. It really is him._

The sound of wet mud sloshed under the boots of the men around him as yet another scuffle broke out, quickly following a slam as someone went down hard with a moan.

"You put me in charge when I never asked for nor desired it. You put your faith in me out of the deep respect you held for my father. With that decision I will not let you down. Be it known that my resolve against the British has not changed. You have all watched me over the years I was in isolation, so you know very well I will see this to the end. However, I will not condone killin' a man who is unarmed and unconscious."

He heard a grunt as the man who had fallen was lifted to his feet.

"I'll say, Jones, for someone who's never shot a man, you've certainly got a harsh uppercut."

Laughter flitted around the small band of men as they massed closer together.

"We'll give ya' the benefit of the doubt here, Jones, as we know you're your father's son, but what are your plans for the Brit?"

There was silence, and the soldier suddenly felt all eyes had fallen on his still form. Would they notice his uneven breathing, his eyes roaming under his shut eyelids? Feigning sleep was not something he was accustomed to doing.

"I will take him in my tent for questioning. He'll come around soon enough. The rest of you get some sleep. One man on watch till midnight. No one disturb me."

"Is it wise to be alone with the redcoat, sir?"

There was a pause, and Arthur felt his breath hitch in which he cursed himself. If they knew he was awake it'd be worse for him.

"He's unarmed and bound; such little faith you seem to have for me, doctor."

There was a grunt of disapproval, "I know you can handle yourself, Alfred. I'm just fearful of ever havin' to bring my daughter the news of your death."

Arthur stiffened as he bit his lip, however, quickly going limp again in case any eyes still lingered on him. There was a sigh and Arthur suddenly felt arms wrapping under his legs and shoulders as he was lifted to rest against the man's chest. The minute Arthur caught that familiar scent his heart fluttered in his chest as he realized he was cradled in Alfred's strong arms again.

"I gave your daughter my sworn vow, Dr. Shannon. I will return to her." Arthur's heart sunk hearing those words again. He had forgotten that not only was Alfred's revenge standing between them, but also the doctor's daughter. Alfred had sworn to marry her in order to gain the help of these men. All to save Micah. Otherwise, they wouldn't have formed such a unit until the war was truly on.

A breeze picked up as he felt Alfred turning away from the group and back towards, where Arthur assumed, the smith's tent was located. A cloth canvas brushed his hair as the smith shouldered his way inside.

The interior was dry and warm, and a soft light lit the back of his eyelids as he continued to fain unconsciousness. There had been no words shared at the entrance to the small tent, which meant Alfred had no guards even though the men had claimed him their leader. Perhaps it was a way to protect him. Guards would draw attention to an officer's location. It was a smart tactic, if still dangerous in a different way.

He then felt himself lowered, gently, on the cold ground, and the sudden absence of Alfred's warmth behind him. A rustle of fabric and Alfred was sitting adjacent from him.

"There's no need to fake sleepin' anymore, Arthur. We're alone."

He had no reason to not believe him, so the soldier slowly opened his eyes to take in his surroundings.

The tent was far from extravagant. Nothing more than one that could be broken down quickly and strapped to the back of a horse and move on. It would hold no more than four men, and all would need to kneel or stand bent over without letting their heads hit the canvas. On closer inspection, Arthur noted that the walls were in fact covered with dried mud, leaves, and sticks, with what looked like fish netting keeping it all together. "My father used this when he went huntin' with the Germans. It works well when you're down wind from a herd of deer who can't smell or see you aimin' up your shot."

"What do you want with me, aside from showing me more of your father's ideas."

"Aside from saving your life, you mean?"

"You pulled me from the river. Why?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

Arthur scowled, "You obviously do not trust me as my hands are still bound."

Alfred's blue eyes looked fiercely into the soldier's as he stood some, bent at the waist due to the tent's low ceiling, and walked over to kneel down behind soldier. The drag of steel against steel as a knife was unsheathed made Arthur's palms begin to sweat as he waited for whatever Alfred's decision would bring about. Either his hands would be freed, or his life's blood would spill from his neck. The soldier's breathing had grown heavy as Alfred suddenly pushed up against Arthur's back, the man's golden hair suddenly coming into the soldier's peripheral. Warm breath was at his neck and he knew why Alfred had told his men he would be fine by himself.

"They're only bound because I don't want you to run from me again." He whispered against the soldier's ear. A shiver ran through the soldier as the words danced across his skin and Alfred's hand glided gently up the soldier's side. Everything inside him screamed to be held by this man again. To know that he was safe and his past could no longer reach him. That someone still wanted him. He thought that being just a body needed on the front line was enough, but after meeting Alfred he knew that it wasn't. Nothing would mean anything more than what Alfred meant to him. However, the smith still held that sense of duty to his people and his own desire for revenge that would keep an impregnable wall between them. It wasn't something Arthur would be able to break down before this was all over. It was a wall built over four years time, and who knew how much had started before that.

"I-I did not run from you. Do not give yourself so much credit."

A chuckle escaped the smith's lips as he backed away. Arthur cursed mentally at his stubbornness but suddenly felt the bindings around his hands slip away. Alfred had gotten back up and moved back to the opposite side of the tent, holding the cut rope in his hands.

"Are you going to run now?"

Arthur sat there in silence, looking anywhere but at the man across from him. He could run, but he had no idea where he was. Crimson was probably dead because of him. It had gotten colder, so snow was inevitable at this point. He was also still wearing his dripping wet uniform. A shot to the head sounded better than freezing to death. As Alfred's question continued to hang in the air, Arthur finally answered with a shake of his head.

"Good. Then undress and put these on. You'll catch your death in those wet clothes." Alfred had reached behind himself for a pile of the smith's own clothing and handed it to the soldier.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Always with the questions."

"I thought your intention was to question me."

"It is, but you won't do me much good if you die of frostbite."

Arthur scoffed as he took the clothing and marched to the far end of the tent to remove his uniform.

"What are your plans for me?" Arthur asked over his shoulder as he unbuttoned his shirt to pull on the heavy wool top. It hung extremely loose on his thin frame but he wouldn't be wearing them for long.

"I thought I was askin' the questions." Alfred said, a smirk flitting across his face as he watched the soldier undress. Arthur's face grew warm as he finished and returned back to where the smith sat.

"Out of curiosity, what sort of questions do you honestly have for me? I only just left you a few hours ago."

"Yes, and you left without any explanation as to why. I would like to know what exactly came over you to run off like that."

Arthur bit his lip as the smith's blue eyes bore into him. What could he say? That he had suddenly remembered his duty here in the Colonies. That he was assigned to find rebels, like the one that sat before him. Only instead he had fallen for this man in a matter of a few days, given his mind and body to him, then to find out that the smith hadn't shirked his own responsibilities. As if his selfishness would in turn infect Alfred and they both could run away and live elsewhere. Alfred never thought about him, only of what he could get from him.

"I was reassigned to Boston. I had to leave."

"You said that, but-" it was Alfred's turn to think about his words. "I... thought we had somethin'. I thought you'd have come with me... to save Micah." The smith fumbled over his words as he averted his gaze to stare at a lantern's flame.

"I am helping you save Micah. I was going to clear his name once you turned yourself in."

Alfred winced at his words as they bit into him. Arthur couldn't help it. After his brush with death in the river, and slowly feeling warmth come back to him, he had resumed his feelings from before. Alfred's needs for revenge being put before his want to be with Arthur left the soldier feeling abandoned. Especially after swearing to marry the doctor's daughter, all for the assistance of other men to save a small child. As it dawned on him, it was really selfish that the doctor would force Alfred's hand over the life of an innocent child.

"Did it ever occur to you that you did not need these men to help you save Micah?" Arthur brought up as he motioned to the men outside.

Alfred remained silent for Arthur to continue.

"A British officer, who was on your side, is staring you in the face and yet you run to other men for help."

Alfred tensed where he sat, "So you're no longer on my side then."

Arthur bit his lip as he looked away again. He hadn't realized his wording, but it was true now wasn't it? He had moments before Micah's capture that he would switch sides, fight alongside the smith against his own countrymen. Yet, having seen that fire in Alfred's eyes, not for him, but for the recovery of the confiscated muskets and saving Micah had made him realize just what the soldier meant to Alfred. Losing Arthur wasn't nearly as important as losing weapons that could help them win the war.

"How can I be on your side when I'm a British officer?"

"You just said that you had been on my side. You could become a loyalist to the colonists."

"A rebel, you mean."

"If we get those muskets back, you'll want to be on the winnin' side."

"_If_ you get the muskets back." Arthur felt his blood beginning to boil again. It kept returning to those damn muskets. Things that had no feelings yet Alfred treated them like they were his own children.

Arthur quickly stood up, only to curse as his head hit the heavy canvas above him. Frustrated now, he turned and stormed back out into the cold. He didn't know where he was going, he just wanted to walk, to not be confronted by Alfred anymore. He had been hurt once only hours ago and now he was being faced with the same situation again.

Being forced to come to a stop, Arthur looked on at the river that blocked his path. It had quieted at this part. Still moving fast yet without the ferocity to churn the waters white with foam. Then his attention was quickly pulled to a large, red form that was trapped against a large boulder that stuck up high out of the water.

His knees finally buckled as he sunk to the wet ground. His eyes never leaving the shape in the water as it rolled listlessly against the stone by the rushing waters. In his blindness, he had done this. The same way he let his brother drown. Selfish, that was all he was, and all he had left was to watch the pain that it brought to others. Even here, on soil so far from his home, he had been selfish in hopes of ridding himself of the pain of his past in another world, only for it to follow him here as well.

A hand rested on his shoulder but it couldn't bring him to react. He wished it would just shove him into the river. To take him forever out to sea, and with him the death he would undoubtedly bring to other living beings if he continued on his path.

"Come with me." Alfred's voice was soft as he removed his hand and walked off, leaving Arthur kneeling in the mud still staring; but he had to get up.

Getting to his feet was a shaky experience, but once he was there finding a resolve to turn away from another life he had claimed seemed somewhat easier. Had Alfred not come by to get him to his feet he probably would have allowed himself to freeze to death there.

A familiar snort caught his attention as he looked off between the trees to see Hero, saddled and ready, with Alfred standing along side the tall horse. Alfred's eyes met his own and with a wave beckoned the soldier over to him.

_What is he planning?_

Approaching him, Alfred hoisted himself up into Hero's saddle (without a hint of concern over his still broken collar bone), and offered a hand down to the soldier.

"Ride with me. I need to take you somewhere." By this point, Arthur didn't exactly have much of a choice. He was Alfred's captive, even with the freedom he was given. As much freedom as it could offer anyway, considering the desolate forest all around them. Arthur's eyes trailed across the packs that clung to Hero's saddle, noticing his own weaponry had been attached as well.

"Are you freeing me?"

"Just give me your hand. The men might wake up soon and Hero isn't a horse that can go unnoticed."

With a nod, Arthur grabbed Alfred's hand and he was practically lifted into the saddle as if he weighed nothing.

"You know your collar bone is still broken, correct?"

"Yeah, but Dr. Shannon took a look at it and gave me somethin' to ease the pain. Can hardly feel it." The smith laughed as he flexed his right arm. Arthur couldn't help but notice as Alfred's smile quivered slightly as he put on his display.

_He's fighting the pain. Doing everything he can to not show any sign of weakness. His men probably have no idea he's injured._

With Arthur now seated in front of Alfred like before, Alfred kicked Hero's flanks and urged the horse to walk on to wherever the smith had planned to take them.

* * *

><p>They hadn't gone far by the time Alfred reigned in the large horse to a walk. Arthur noted that they had turned and traveled south. Farther from Boston than Arthur would have liked. He still needed to report to the General. The last thing he wanted was to be on the man's bad side when he pleaded for the release of Micah.<p>

"Where are we?" Looking about, Arthur couldn't help but take in the view as they reached the top of the large hill. Further up a sheer cliff met them head on with the vast stretch of Boston harbour reaching off into the distance to meet with the great Atlantic. Islands littered the harbour while vast tall ships sailed about between them. Cautious of the shallows as they went.

"We've entered Weymouth, just south of Quincy." Arthur turned in the saddle to look up at Alfred in confusion. "You had been traveling north to Boston, however, the river you fell in swept you back down south. This here is one of the highest elevations along the south shore of Boston, Great Hill."

Alfred slipped down from the saddle as Arthur continued to look out across the waters. The storm had moved off and left the waters to calm to a mirror finish. It was beautiful, and the reflection of the moon and stars seemed to lift Arthur's spirits. Perhaps this was the feeling Alfred had looked for the night the soldier had held his pistol to the man's head.

"Arthur, over here."

Sliding to the ground, Arthur walked over to meet Alfred where he stood next to a large maple that grew apart from the heavy treeline beyond it. At his feet, was a small mound of stones, a wooden cross tied together by twine stood tall from the middle of it, while a newly placed lily rested at it's base.

"This is your father's grave."

A slow nod was all Alfred gave as an answer. The smith's gaze then looked back to the maple and Arthur followed to take note of two more identical graves. The smith rounded his father's memorial to approach the other two, and placed two more lily's on either grave as he did his father's. Then, without a word, Alfred disappeared down a slight drop that Arthur hadn't noticed before.

Quickly following behind the smith Arthur didn't need to get far before his breath caught in his throat. Laid about before him were dozens upon dozens of graves.

"This is the Jones family burial ground." Came Alfred's words. Arthur was struck dumb as Alfred turned to look up at him. "The large majority here I've never met in my life. Many are the graves of babes that didn't make it past their first year." He then turned back to look out at them. "I don't know how, or who does it, but there are new graves every few years. The Jones name is spread wide amongst the colonies but they all some how find their way back to this hill."

Turning back to face Arthur, he took the few steps up the slope to stand alongside the soldier. Silence fell between them while only their breathing and the puffs of smoke in the cold air filled the silence. Moments it took, but what seemed like days passed until Alfred finally spoke again. This time, taking Arthur's shoulders in his hands to turn the soldier to face him. Those blue eyes, so distant now. Faded and gray. As if standing on these grounds drained the life from them.

"I am the last Jones of my immediate family. There is no one else that knows about me, or this place." He paused as he looked back up the slope to where the three crosses of his father, mother, and younger brother rested before he turned back to the soldier. "Arthur... if I die tomorrow, or out on that battlefield, that you could please... lay me to rest here with my family. Or at the very least, raise a cross in my name beside them."

Arthur watched as this strong man, who seemed to carry the world's weight on his shoulders alone, allowed tears to gently fall down his face. Barriers breaking around him as he exposed his heart to only Arthur in that moment. It was hard, as Arthur had never truly been alone in his life. He had felt alone, but his mother had been there even after they pulled his brother from the sea. She held him and stroked his hair as she cried, even when he had no tears of his own. She had been there years after when Arthur decided to enlist in the army and head out across the sea for good. Yet still, during his short time in this new world, he had met Alfred and they had shared something he thought he had lost for good. Even so, he had never _truly_ been alone. To feel that sense of abandonment, and longing to be held in familiar arms. To push it all behind and wear a mask just to be able to wake up each morning. Now, that mask had been removed, and the broken Alfred lay crumbling before him. Desperation made him seek out a stranger, one that could turn what was crumbling into dust. Or, the stranger could try to piece him back together.

Arthur's shoulders shook with the weight he now felt had been placed on him, and he wasn't so sure he could hold it up. "Alfred- I won't be there to see your death. I will be long gone by then, and you will have gone on to have children of your own to carry on your family's name for generations to come."

With a thumb, Arthur moved up to brush the tears that had stained Alfred's face.

"You will reunite with Micah again and tell him of the wonderful news that you are both brothers. You will help bring him up right, train him to work the smithery, and learn to be that veterinarian he dreams about." Arthur felt a smile form on his lips as his own eyes began to blur with tears. "He will go on to train the fastest horses no country has ever seen, and it will all be because of you. Your strength and optimism. You, Alfred. Only you." Arthur's hand went up to wipe the tears from his own eyes as he tried to find some composure however flitting it was. "So don't go dying on me yet. You have too much work ahead of you to grow lazy now." He grinned as he slapped a hand on Alfred's shoulder to wake the man up some.

Alfred sniffed and made to wipe his own eyes before standing up straight. His composure seeming to return as he did. "Come then. There is one last thing that needs to be done."

* * *

><p>Dawn had begun to break by the time Alfred slowed Hero amidst dense forest with no obvious sign as to why they were there. It was countless questions regarding the smith's motives. Always seeming to lead to the most obscure conclusions. Yet, in the midst prior to this he would joke and laugh, as if being cheerful would lessen the blow to whomever he was with. Or perhaps, it was an act to make it easier for himself.<p>

"Well, this is it."

Arthur looked around, not understanding what he was being showed.

"We're in the middle of the forest."

"Very observant of you."

Arthur rolled his eyes at the smith's obnoxious behaviour returning.

"Alright then, what are we doing in the middle of the forest?" Arthur coincided.

With a 'tut' to Hero, Alfred walked the large horse slowly down a slope towards a thick line of trees, and as they neared a large clearing began to come into view between the trunks and brush. Arthur squinted as if to get a clearer view at the open expanse until he saw it. A gasp escaped him as he sat back against Alfred's chest, only causing him to quickly turn in the seat to look up at the smith.

"That's a British camp! What are we doing so close to them?" Fear laced his words as he tried to get Alfred to look down at him. The smith simply remained staring off at the small compound. A smile on his face as he did.

"Are you insane? They could have patrols out here!" Arthur was now gripping the smith's shirt, shaking the man to get his attention onto him.

"Just remember that you were undercover in a rebel camp to find me, and the actual camp is due south from here. There are fifteen men stationed there, minus one now."

"What are you saying? Have you gone mad?"

Alfred finally looked down at Arthur. Those blue eyes gleaming again. The mask had been replaced.

"You should know what to do after that."

With those final words, Alfred kicked Hero hard, causing the massive horse to rear up in distress before plunging through the mess of trees out into the expansive clearing.

"No Alfred! Hero! Woah!" Arthur attempted to stop the horse as it barreled full-speed towards the camp in the distance. Union Jack's waving proudly at each post and tent. Alfred's hands suddenly disappeared from the reins in which Arthur quickly picked up, pulling back immediately to try and stop the horse before they came too close. However, Hero never let up.

"Keep on! Keep on, Hero!" Arthur spun to look at Alfred who was smiling. The bloody fool was actually smiling, and was somehow able to control his horse just by his words alone.

Then his attention was brought to the smith's hands. He had fashioned some sort of knot and had slipped his hands into the loops. Once they were bound, he grabbed a loose piece of the rope with his teeth and pulled, securing the rope tightly.

"You are turning yourself in-"

Alfred looked to Arthur with a smile.

"-By making me look like I captured you?"

A nod this time as he suddenly leaned in close to the soldier, bringing his face down only to rest in the crook of Arthur's neck and shoulder. The smith's warm breath teased along his skin, causing Arthur to stiffen in his seat, as Alfred lifted his head to reach the soldier's ear where he whispered, "Save Micah."

Alfred then quickly pulled away before Arthur could even gather what was going on until he started to hear shouts from all around him.

Facing forward again, Arthur was surprised to see they had barreled into the camp and sleeping soldiers had stirred from the commotion to see what was going on. Before Arthur could react, Alfred slid from the saddle and allowed himself to fall hard on the cold ground where he hissed and curled up some from the impact. With Alfred no longer on Hero, the horse stopped and pawed at the ground in anger as soldiers approached them.

"Hold your fire, he-"

"You fuckin' redcoat, bastard!" Arthur was caught off guard as he looked down at Alfred on the ground. His eyes now filled with anger as he glared up at Arthur. Arthur then noticed that not only had Alfred secured his hands, but he had bound his legs as well. When had he done that? But the scene was obvious. Alfred was acting as a captive rebel, and Arthur needed to play the part of the undercover British soldier who had done the capturing.

"What is the meaning of this? Who are you?"

A general Arthur wasn't familiar with stepped out of a large tent, flanked by men with muskets drawn and aimed at both Alfred and himself.

"Lieutenant Arthur Kirkland, sir! I-I was undercover in a rebel camp just south of here. I was able to apprehend the Quincy blacksmith who was suspected to be the one to have made the contraband that was confiscated yesterday afternoon, sir."

"I did nothin' of the sort! This pig is lyin'! I'm nothin' more than an apprentice!"

"Men, stand the yank up." Two soldiers quickly ran over to Alfred where he sputtered and sneered at the soldiers around him. He was hoisted up under his arms, and Arthur couldn't help but notice him wince at the obvious pain he was still feeling from his broken collar bone. This scene was taking everything Arthur had to not run to Alfred's help and get him out of here.

"State your name, yank."

Alfred spat at the general which only earned him the butt of a rifle across his face.

"I'll ask again. State your name."

"It is him, sir. The boy's description matches." Another soldier said as he quickly approached them.

The general took a piece of paper that was offered to him, and his eyes ran down the list and back again to Alfred. "Well then, Alfred F. Jones, you are under arrest for treason against the Crown. Lock him up for now and begin preparing to continue north for Boston."

The soldiers saluted, while the two still holding Alfred drug him off towards a tent in the far back of the compound. Arthur watched where they took Alfred only to have his attention quickly taken back to where he was and exactly what he was still doing.

"Has mingling with those ruffians made you forget your place, Lieutenant?"

"Oh, sorry, sir." Arthur quickly hopped down from Hero, and saluted the general. The man nodded allowing Arthur to take a relaxed stance.

The same man that had brought the note concerning Alfred returned with a large book, open to a page which the general than scanned and began to read off of.

"Says here you just arrived less than a week ago aboard the Elizabeth. You were stationed to quarter with the blacksmith in question. Is that correct?"

Arthur nodded, "Yes, sir."

"I take it you observed his work then?"

"To a point, sir. He... was secretive about it, and managed to work while I was ordered to patrol." It was a lie, but it was the best he could come up with as to why he didn't watch Alfred closely. He had caught him in the forge but he had never seen him working on more than a bayonet. Nothing worth telling this general about. He was certain the general was more interested in the rifling done to the barrels, if he had been given a report regarding the muskets in question that is. If not, Arthur wouldn't want to draw attention to them.

"I see. Where is your uniform?"

"In one of the saddle bags, sir. I'm afraid they were soiled during the storm this past evening while I was disguised as a colonist."

The general laughed, "Disguised as a colonist. Well you certainly look disheveled enough. How about the accent?"

Arthur grimaced as he had not been practicing the American's accent as he portrayed, but he had been around Alfred long enough that perhaps he could pull something off.

"Ahh- might I speak freely, sir?"

The general nodded, so Arthur swallowed and attempted the best Boston accent he had listened come out of Alfred's mouth over the short couple days he had spent with him.

"These Brits ah nothin' but assholes. Takin' ovah ah land and taxin' the hell out of us all, without givin' us a chance to speak fo' ahselves."

The general paused a moment before letting out a loud laugh as he walked over to Arthur to pat him on the back.

"Well done, lad. Not so sure I appreciate hearing those particular words but if you were under cover I'm sure those yanks were fooled easily."

"Y-yes, sir."

"Well then, how about getting yourself suited up in a new uniform. You'll be wanting to display your Captain ranking now."

Arthur stopped where he stood after having been following the general to his tent.

"Sorry, sir? I am afraid I misunderstood you."

The general turned, "Thanks to you we have a valuable prisoner in our midst. Field ranks are not given lightly. I suggest you accept your new title without question, Captain Kirkland."

Arthur saluted, "Yes, sir." And the general left into his tent with a flourish of the canvas signaling Arthur's dismissal.

_A Captain. I never thought I'd make anything above Lieutenant as it is so expensive. But a Captain._

He stood there baffled until it dawned on him. He had paid for his new position. Only not with pounds, but with the life of one man who meant more to him than all the gold in the world. Arthur's gaze then moved off to the prisoner tent where Alfred was being kept.

_Is this his big plan? To have himself captured just like that_.

_ "Save Micah."_

"Captain Kirkland, sir." Arthur jumped upon being addressed to find a private next to him holding his old uniform as well as his weapons that had been secured to Hero.

"Sorry, sir, I did not mean to startle you. The general has instructed that you are housed in tent eight. Your new adornments will be brought to you there." Arthur nodded as he took his things from the private, until a whinny grabbed his attention as he looked over the man's shoulder.

"Wait- what are they doing to He- the horse?" The private turned to see that Alfred's horse was being roughly handled by five soldiers trying to calm the massive animal.

"It is a plow horse. Not meant to be in our camp. It is also wild and not well trained. It will be put down."

That was all Arthur needed to hear before he shoved his clothing and weapons back at the private before running up to the group of men.

"Wait, sir! Stay back! This one is wild! I don't know how you managed to ride him out here."

Arthur ignored the man as he pushed past him and grabbed the reins from his hands. Hero calmed some upon seeing Arthur approach as well as pick up on Alfred's scent from the clothing he was still wearing.

"That is it boy. Nothing here to be afraid of. You are in my care now." Hero allowed Arthur to get closer to rest a hand on the animal's strong neck in a comforting pat. With a snort, the horse shook his head about, still unsettled but more agreeable than before.

"I am claiming this horse as my own. No one is to go near him. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Captain, sir!" The group around him saluted.

"Very well, you are dismissed." The group scattered leaving Arthur with Hero alone.

_Alfred would not want to see his horse harmed. He will have him back as well once this is all over. I will make sure of that._

Hero tossed his head up and down as if he could hear Arthur's thoughts, bringing a smile to the new Captain's face.

"That's a good boy. How about an apple?"

* * *

><p>A few hours in the morning sun had dried Arthur's uniform and a fringed epaulette was placed on his left shoulder to mark his new rank as Captain. With a new rank came some relief for Micah's release to be accepted. However, now there was the matter of Alfred to deal with.<p>

/_If only that fool could have told me more concerning his plan. If he even has a plan for that matter. Running blindly towards a British camp. What on earth was he thinking?_

"Captain Kirkland, sir?"

"Enter."

The private he had met earlier stepped just inside the canvas door and saluted before stating his business.

"We will be heading out to Boston by 0900 hours. You may break your fast in the officer's tent. Also General Redford gives you permission to speak with the prisoner."

At this Arthur looked away from cleaning his pistol to the private. "Why would he give me permission to see Al- er... the yank?" Arthur grit his teeth in hopes the private missed the slip.

"He believes you may have a better time getting information out of him, sir." Arthur scrutinized the private a moment until he finally nodded, signaling the man's dismissal.

_So, General Redford, wants me to get information out of Alfred. What information could he mean? Has he been informed of exactly what the contraband contained? If that's the case, do they already know about the modifications to them?_

With his sword belted on and his pistol returned to it's holster, Arthur headed out into the brisk morning air to be confronted by British soldiers up and about the compound gathering up supplies and gear to begin heading out for Boston. He had an hour before he needed to get Hero saddled. He was thankful the General had allowed Hero to remain under his care. A draught horse was not a military standard by far, but he hoped that Hero wouldn't be among the British Army for long.

Shielding his eyes from the sun, he located the lone tent set well aside from the rest of the camp, guarded by two men who appeared to be rather frazzled.

_I hope I do not find him in pieces in there._

As Arthur approached the tent the guards quickly saluted their new captain and Arthur couldn't help but notice the disheveled look to both of them. He smirked to himself thinking of all the things that Alfred must have been doing to cause these two men to look in such a way.

"Someone else approaches! You boy's didn't have to go through all the trouble of findin' me some pretty lady to keep me company! You're too kind!"

"Quiet down in there!"

"Aren't you gettin' feisty! Come on in here and say that to my face!"

Arthur wasn't sure just how much more he could take without loosing his control. Already he could feel his shoulders shaking in mirth from Alfred's outbursts.

"That is enough, men. Go and break fast."

The two guards looked at each other, "Are you sure, sir?"

Arthur nodded and both shrugged and headed off.

After the men had left and Arthur was left alone, he fixed his uniform and pressed his way into the small tent. What he was confronted with was something he thought he had been prepared for.

"Well, you're not a pretty lady but I'll take what I can get."

"Dear God, Alfred! You've only been locked in here for three hours and you look like a horse trampled you!"

That was putting it lightly. The smith was tied to a post in the middle of the tent where he was kneeling and bent over in obvious pain. Both of Alfred's eyes were black, and he sported a broken nose complete with dried blood running down his face. Arthur would have believed the man's jaw to be broken if it wasn't for his previous quips at the guards. Beyond that, Arthur could only imagine the bruises Alfred had forming under his clothing as there were tears and scuff marks on the white linen of his shirt as well as on his brown trousers. His coat had been tossed to the side of the tent which only added to Alfred's pain by leaving him exposed to the cold.

"I've been through worse. Those kids need a few lessons on interrogation methods."

Arthur was now kneeling at Alfred's side, trying to look over the stubborn man's injuries.

"About that... what exactly were they interrogating you about?"

Alfred winced when Arthur's hand touched lightly on a large bruise that was forming on his side where he had been obviously kicked.

Hissing through clenched teeth, Alfred tried to push past his discomfort, "About the damn muskets they took. They're askin' why they're fashioned from bronze and why the barrel has been altered."

"You did not tell them?"

"Obviously."

"That's not good then. Their gunsmith must have looked them over already. They must be planning to replicate them but they need you to show them how."

"Least I know I won't be killed right away."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "It will be much longer than that." Arthur than pointed out the new addition to his uniform.

"I had a feelin' you'd get a promotion out of bringin' me in. Part of the plan."

"Ha! You mean you actually planned this."

"Always such little faith."

"Captain Kirkland, we need to pull down this tent to begin our trek north, sir." Arthur quickly stood as the soldier's voice from outside grabbed his attention.

"Right then. Give me just a moment."

The shadow of the soldier against the closed canvas overhang walked off and Arthur turned back to Alfred.

"Whatever this plan of yours is... I do hope it works." Alfred smiled, his blue eyes showing the pain he was in but still holding that special gleam that seemed to only shine for Arthur. The soldier hoped that some day soon those eyes would forever shine without pain etched within them.

"Part of it has already been successful. You came back to me."

Arthur felt his face grow warm as he tried to avert his gaze. Clearing his throat, he pulled on his coat to fix it of any wrinkles and began to head for the door until he was stopped once more.

"Wait- let me see your pistol."

Confused; Arthur pulled his pistol from it's holster and held it out for Alfred to inspect.

"Angle it so I can look down the barrel."

Arthur did as he was instructed and a curse escaped Alfred's lips as the barrel lined with his vision.

"What is it?"

"The barrel isn't rifled."

Alfred lifted his gaze again to meet Arthur's. That gleam now gone and replaced with a stern look as if trying to explain everything to the soldier within that moment.

"This isn't your pistol. They've seen the rifling I did to your weapon."

"You mean to say-"

Alfred nodded, "Watch your back."

**Author's Notes: **

**WOAH! So sorry for the long delay with this chapter! Had some writer's block in the early stages of it and when I finally pushed past that it was X-mas week so I had very little time to write. Then xmas came and I got sucked into Doctor Who. Go me and my procrastination! :D**

** As for bringing in yet another town in Massachusetts; I always said I would never write a story that mentions my hometown, but it just so happens Quincy borders Weymouth, and "Great Hill" is an actual place in Weymouth that overlooks Boston Harbour. You can see Boston from that hill. It's pretty sweet. :3 Breathtaking place to check out. **

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It was a fun one to write. Be sure to let me know what you think on your way out! ^^ I love hearing from you all, and feel free to nitpick as you see fit. I've been a little slack on my research and have been taking a few liberties. *bad* Thank you again for reading! See you again in Chapter 11! :D **

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><p><strong><em>Follow me on tumblr for status updates concerning "Quartering Acts" as well as USUK fanart: ahro. tumblr. com<em>**


	12. Chapter 11

**Quartering Acts**

**By Ahro**

_ (Rated M for explicit sexual situations, violence, and language.)_

**Chapter 11**

Every inhale sent a stabbing pain through Alfred's abdomen as he tried to make it clear to Arthur exactly what the man was in for. It had been the smith's own damn fault for having antagonized the soldier's to add to his prior list of injuries, he just couldn't help messing with them some. Seeing that posh attitude be whittled away brought Alfred a sense of pride.

_That's right, you're not gods, you're human just like me._

The one soldier that seemed to know this was still in the tent with him, eyeing him with worry and concern at both the smith's previous words and at his injuries. How this soldier, now a Captain, had managed to find his way into Alfred's lonely life and change it so quickly astounded him. Though he wasn't sure of just how much longer either of them would be altering one another's life in the coming months. If he even had that long.

"Do you think they know I'm helping you?"

Alfred smirked, "So you're helpin' me now?"

Arthur glared, "Helping you save Micah. I never agreed to help you out of your current predicament. My plan was to see you hang for your treason as a rebel."

A snicker left Alfred but he regretted it quickly as the pain from his bruised ribs seered through him. He had been well practiced at masking his discomfort, yet today he was beginning to tire from it all.

Gasping slightly, he suddenly felt Arthur's hands on his shoulders, forcing him back against the pole he was tied to.

"Try and stay up right. Your breathing will be easier."

Alfred cracked a smile, "You're really somethin', ya know that, Captain Kirkland. You're still holdin' onto those brainwashed ideals your countrymen have yet you continue to show such pity towards me."

A slap knocked his head to the side but he continued to hold the same grin. This seemed to only anger the new captain furthur.

"What of you then? Why would you warn me to watch out if you care so little! You honestly think I am naive enough as to let my guard down even around my own men?"

"If you can't, should you really be with them?"

Arthur fumed as he stood back up, and headed back to the entrance of the small tent. He paused just inside it to look back at Alfred once more. Pure hatrid lined his young face as he glared at the smith.

"We should reach Boston by dusk. You will be placed in a holding cell upon arrival. By tomorrow morning your crimes will have already been judged upon. They have enough proof already that you are guilty." He then turned around completly, "I _will_ see you hang."

With those final words, Arthur left quickly through the canvas door leaving Alfred alone once more in the tent.  
>He suddenly didn't feel like bothering the returning guards.<p>

A few hours passed by the time Alfred was finally tied to an officer's horse at the rear of the procession. His legs had been bound loosely but it would still be difficult for him to run. Not that he would. This had been his goal. To turn himself in to help Arthur have Micah released. Even with Arthur's change of heart against Alfred, he knew Micah would be safe.

_I had to push him away. If he showed too much concern over me than that general would have never believed him._

Now he could only wonder what Arthur would do concerning the pistol. It was a standard flintlock but with the royal seal engraved on each one. There was no way Arthur could say he stole it from Alfred, nor could he say he knew nothing of the alteration to the barrel. It would be too easy to believe Arthur was helping Alfred. Right now though, Alfred knew nothing except avoiding being swatted in the face by a horse tail, and avoiding massive droppings.

* * *

><p>Alfred's legs ached by the time they arrived in Boston. It was close to supper and the oil lamps were being lit as the sun began to creep closer to the horizon. The sound of hoof and carriage wheel against cobblestone roads littered the streets with noise. Far from the quiet that he was use to in Quincy.<p>

Boston had been a place that he loved to visit when his father was still alive. He enjoyed the fast paced speed of the harbor city. It always lifted his mood, and his father would laugh that deep laugh of his patting Alfred on the shoulder as he ran from shop to shop. The tall ships as they sat docked along the shore brought him to imagine what it would be like to sail for months at a time on the ocean. It was what made his father build him the small sail boat he currently still used. However, his father was forceful in reminding Alfred that he was to take over the family business. Dreams of sailing were not the dreams of a man who would need to bring up a family of his own.

If his father saw him now, would he have preferred his son become a sailor, or was his intention for Alfred to follow in his footsteps, and rebel against the British like he had?

"Keep up, Yank!"

His arms were pulled suddenly almost causing him to fall and be dragged along the ground. Alfred spat as he took in his surroundings, quickly noticing the jail that would be his inn for the night. They had arrived, and it wouldn't be much longer now. He hoped Micah wasn't being kept in this place as well, however, he wouldn't have put it past them.

"Alfred. What happened to you, boy?" A soft, older voice caught the smith off guard as he turned his head to see an older man coming up to him, his face hidden in the shadows of his hood.

"I'm sorry?"

"Last time I saw you you were nothin' more than a babe suckin' on your mother's teat. Now, you're in chains to be prosecuted as a rebel?"

"What are you gettin' at, old man?"

"Hey! No talkin' to the prisoner!" The officer astride the horse that had been pulling Alfred along yelled down at the old man.

The elderly man just put up a hand in apology and began to turn. As he did, the man steered closer to Alfred and whispered, "You've made your old man proud, but next you need to escape this."

"What?" Alfred almost jerked the horse around as he tried to get a closer look at the man, but he had already disappeared amongst the roaming pedestrians.

"Hey there now!" The soldier atop the horse that was leading Alfred spun in his saddle as he attempted to calm his mount, "Rebel, pig! Knock that off or you'll have a matching gash on the other side of your head!"

Alfred's arms were violently pulled, throwing him off balance and landing hard on the cobblestone road. A hiss escaped his lips as he felt his skin tear along his arms and hands as he had tried to brace himself. Nothing new by this point. All the pain felt the same now to him. The only thing that interested him was the strange old man.

_What is his relation to my father? If he knew me as a babe, why was he absent while I grew up? Why show up now? And that voice... it sounded familiar though, yet there was a strange accent to it. Dammit, why can't anythin' just be straight forward. Damn riddles!_

He had gotten back to his feet during his internal struggling as he was propelled towards the jail. He was relieved of being tethered to the soldier's horse, and ungraciously deposited in an inner cell. His shackles being replaced by ones that were chained to the cold, stone walls. The walls were damp from the recent storm where rain had broken through the mortar, causing the stone to partially freeze in places with the cold winter approaching. This made Alfred's position against the wall that much worse. His arms had been strung up tight and apart above his head, while his feet were chained to the ground. He would be forced to stand in this position, his back pressed against the icey wall as the cold seeped through his thin shirt.

_I'll be lucky if I live through the night like this._

Beyond the cold wall, that he was now trying desperately to keep his back from touching, he attempted to make out exactly what he was surrounded by. As much as he could due to the complete pitch of the dank jail. The most obvious was the potent odor that wafted through the air. Even with the cold, the stench was so strong of excrements, blood, and rotten flesh (hopefully, that of rats), Alfred wanted to do nothing but retch. Breathing through his mouth in hopes to alleviate some of the smell, he could just barely make out scattered junk amidst the floor. A privy bucket that had been toppled over (probably once full and never emptied), was closest to him, while a faint glint off of more chains and shackles littered the corners of the cell. There were no planks for sitting. Either men were strung up, like in Alfred's case, or were to sit on the floor.

This was another interesting conclusion. Alfred was surprisingly alone. The jail held roughly eight seperate cells, connected to a central hall with the cells facing one another. There was only one entrance and exit and it was at the front of the building. Light just barely made it to the far back where Alfred had been placed, much as a means of torture next to physical pain. Alfred had been scrutinizing over the old man while he was lead down that hall, but he wasn't oblivious as to observe exactly the layout of the jail. The lack of cell mates, however, was strikingly reassuring to the smith.

_Looks like the Brits are having more trouble rounding up the rebels than they let on._

Just as he was about to relish in the idea, the slow creaking of the lone door of the jail siddled open on rusted hinges that echoed off the walls towards the smith. A single streak of light lit up the floor of the hall while a large shadow suddenly moved in front of it, darkening the hall once again.

Heavy foot falls, clinking of metal, and the brush of steel being drawn, slowly approached the smith as he tried to find some dignified posture in his predicament.

The first thing that he saw was the glint off of razor sharp steel, leading back to the exact man Alfred did not want to see.

"So, the famous Quincy Blacksmith finally rears his ugly head as a rebel. Just a shame I wasn't the one to have brought you in." Another soldier quickly stepped around the gluntonous man to shine the light from a torch into Alfred's cell. The smith winced at the sudden light, but refused to remove the sneer that was plastered on his face.

"Dereks."

"General Dereks, yank, and I'm glad to see that you know my name. Do tell me, how have you been fairing with those gifts I left you?"

"You mean your men left me. You just sat there like the lazy basturd that you are and shouted orders."

This seemed to ruffle the general as the door was then quickly unlocked and the large man pushed his way in to size up against the smith. His sword point, quickly pressing against Alfred's partially exposed chest, his shirt in such tatters that it did nothing to shield him.

"You aren't worth dirtying my blade over." The man growled and spat as he pressed the point furthur causing blood to slowly seep around the steel.

"Tell me, is it common practice for you Brits to only challenge unarmed men?"

A quick movement and Alfred felt his chest seer in fire as the general's sword quickly cut a smooth line into him. Blood quickly began to spill out of the shallow wound and another soldier quickly ran into the cell.

"Sir! You can't-"

"I slipped." The look the general gave to the soldier sent the man shivering and nodding back into the hallway.

"Enough of this. Bring the boy!"

Alfred's gaze shot up to stare past the obese general as a small, limp form was hauled into the cell. The boy had a burlap sack over his head and his hands and feet were bound with corse rope. Alfred felt his stomach turn once again as the boy was held up right by his arms by one of the soldiers.

The general smirked, turned, and pulled the sack from the unconcious boy's head.

Seeing the truth brought Alfred to a new fury.

"LET HIM GO!" His chains pulled taught as Alfred tried to get at the child. Micah. His brother. "He's innocent! You have me! He means nothing-"

"On the contrary-" The General cut in as he quickly grabbed Alfred by the chin to force his gaze away from the boy. "He means much more to so many people. Does he not?" A sickly grin spread across the man's round face. "Seeing the boy hang... why that would lure your rebels out of the crowd quite quickly."

Alfred's eyes widened. They were still planning on hanging Micah. Even with Alfred in custody.

_Perhaps they just haven't talked with Arthur yet. His word should garner some weight for Micah's release._

"You would hang a nine-year-old, innocent boy as an attempt to lure out rebels. You're askin' to incite a riot in the streets."

"Ha! No civilian will stand up for some boy. Not with the British Army occuping every cobblestone in Boston. Only your men will cause a disturbance, and in turn make it easy for us to pick the lot of you off." The general shoved Alfred's face away as he stood back up, throwing back his head with a loud laugh and slapping his gut as he did. "It will be a grand show on the Common tomorrow afternoon, and you, my friend, will have a front row seat." Another boisterous laugh punctuated the dark cell and vibrated off the wet walls. Alfred felt sick again as he looked on at the young boy before him. It was the first time he had laid eyes on him since he learned that the boy was in fact his brother. His ruffled blond hair was slightly darker than his own thanks to his mother, yet he knew those eyes, hidden now behind closed lids, were the same bright sky blue as his own.

_My little brother... all those years, and I never knew. I kept you away due my selfishness for revenge. Kept everyone away, and for what?_

If he could, Alfred would have fallen to his knees, instead he felt himself go limp in his chains, hanging from the shackles on the wall while the man before him laughed. He couldn't even find the strength as the soldier's replaced the sack over Micah's head and began to leave. The general, his laughter continuing to ring through the cell, mocked his powerless form.

_All for what?_

The old door creaked as it was opened and closed again. Light coming and going. The sun had already set by now, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see the puffs of his breath in the air, feel the cold closing around him, and allowed unconciousness to somehow get him through the night or let him sleep eternal.

* * *

><p>A muffled voice.<p>

"-bloody idiot."

The rattling of steel hinges.

"-this planned... dressed for the occasion."

Something thick and heavy on his shoulders.

Warmth.

"All that boasting, and a mere chill in the air knocks you unconscious."

Alfred couldn't help but smirk.

"Right-" Alfred coughed with a laugh, "-don't let the bruised ribs, broken nose, black eyes, oh- and the gash and broken collar bone from the other day fool you. The cold does me in every time."

The newly appointed captain paused, "You forgot about the still bleeding slice across your chest."

Alfred took his own moment to pause, "Ahh- must be gettin' old. Havin' trouble keepin' track of all these injuries."

"Perhaps I should give you a few more so you can forget about that smart mouth of yours as well."

"Ha- ahh! Shit!" A sudden cold rag that must have been doused in alcohol burned along the cut on his chest. A hiss escaped his lips as Arthur held pressure to the cut.

"She was right, you are nothing more than a baby."

"Piss off, Brit."

"Belt up, Yank."

A mutual silence seemed agreed upon as Arthur continued to work at stopping the blood flow from Alfred's chest. The initial sting of the alcohol had subsided which allowed the smith some much needed time to think. Primarily over whether Arthur had been successful in gaining Micah's freedom. However, Arthur's sudden return to care giver had Alfred choking on his immediate questions.

Thankfully, Arthur stepped forward to provide a much needed answer.

"I was able to have a meeting with General Redford concerning Micah's release." Alfred's head snapped to look at the soldier. Arthur's gaze was trained on the long sword cut on Alfred's chest. It was well past the point of continued pressure but Arthur seemed to think otherwise. "The decision is still being made, however, he believes Micah was merely found in the wrong place at the wrong time. After questioning him he was found to have a plausible alibi. Thanks in turn to Ensign Berkley."

"Berkley?"

"He was being quartered recently to stay with Micah and his mother. I went out on patrol with him that first night after you..."

Alfred studied Arthur's face as he quickly bit his lip and began reaching in his coat pocket for bandages. Even in the dim light that came from the small lantern Arthur had rested just outside his cell door, he could see a dark tinge had begun to dust the soldier's cheeks.

He had been standing too close to him. That clove scent in his hair then that sweet spice of camomile tea that lingered in each breath; it blocked all of his senses to the surrounding filth they were in. With the added knowledge that Arthur may have succeeded in saving Micah. Saving his brother. Alfred's chest tightened and his continued effort to push this man away seemed to wither where he stood.

Even with the sudden jostling of chains as Alfred moved in closer, Arthur never moved but the moment Alfred's breath was at the soldier's neck he stiffened.

"After I breathed you name, Arthur?" He said, dusting his warm breath against the man's cool skin, sending a shiver through the soldier as he did. To Alfred's delight Arthur didn't pull away, even though a small voice in the back of Alfred's head screamed at him to not start this again with the soldier.

"W-why- did you do that... that night?" He swallowed.

Alfred smiled against the soldier's skin as he slowly inhaled those sweet scents he had grown so weak for.

"If you asked me then I'd have said you were the first warm blooded thing besides Hero that stuck around me for more than twelve hours. Not too many men can say they've gone four years without gettin' their dick wet."

"But- I'm a man."

"You think that mattered much to someone who had been sucking from the teats of revenge?" Alfred then lightly licked the man's ear lobe before taking it into his mouth to suck on it. Arthur's grip on the rag must have failed him as a wet slap echoed through the cell but didn't seem to faze him as a moan escaped his lips.

"Asking me now though," Alfred pulled back a bit to look Arthur in the eyes. They were now heavy with want but those green orbs still looked on into his to show the smith he had his direct attention. "I would say that a foreign stranger with emerald eyes had pulled me away from revenge, and turned me to see what really mattered in life." Alfred smirked, "Angels were never given a specified gender after all."

Arthur's gaze was pointed to their feet but Alfred could see the distinct darkening blush that had been on his cheeks move back to his ears even in the dim light. The man began to shake slightly, as his hands began to twist the bandages he still clutched, contorting them from being useful.

"You're a fool..." It was whispered, and Alfred pulled back to look at the soldier in confusion. "... a fool Arthur Kirkland."

Arthur snapped his gaze back up at Alfred, his eyes lit with a fire that Alfred had not seen since the soldier was in his arms in the woods.

"Arthur, what-?" Before Alfred could finish his question his lips were taken with such a ferocity that Alfred felt himself shoved back against the wall. It only took a moment for the smith to realize a blanket, that the soldier had slung over him upon entering, created a warm barrier against the cold wall. Knowing this, Alfred felt himself relax immediately into the kiss allowing the aggression the soldier had kept restrained come out the way he possessed Alfred's lips.

This was what Alfred had kept at bay. He knew he had angered the soldier. Angered him by putting him second. Angered him by throwing the war in his face. Something that Arthur wanted to deny was going to ever happen. Yet, here it all was put forth in a single motion. He had angered him, but he had failed in pushing him away. The evidence was clear that the soldier would come back to him. No matter how much distance was between them, or how much hurt either one caused the other. At least Alfred knew that there might still be a chance after all this was over.

Alfred's attention was brought back to his situation when an audible moan came from the soldier. His tongue dove deep into Alfred's mouth as he tasted what was probably blood. It slightly unnerved him that the soldier didn't seem to care, he only began to fist his hands into Alfred's messy hair to bring them closer together.

Alfred felt himself growing irritated by his limitations with still being chained to the wall. Arthur had free reign over him while he could do nothing.

Arthur seemed to have realized this as he pulled back ever so slightly, still kissing him in between his words, "I could..."

"You can't."

Another kiss, "But I-"

"You can't."

He was pulling away. His hands had moved down to rest on Alfred's shoulders while he leaned back, his head hanging between them, their breath, still heated from the previous moment, put out puffs of white smoke in the cold air.

"He is safe Alfred. I know he is. I could undo these shackles and we could be out of here."

Alfred let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging as much as his binds would allow. A dull ache throbbed from his collar bone but he ignored it as he had been for a while now.

"He's not safe yet. Not until he's back in the arms of his mother will he ever be safe."

Arthur continued to look away yet his grip tightened their hold on Alfred's shoulders. "You really believe they still plan on hanging him tomorrow?"

"I won't be sure until that noose is around my neck."

Arthur's grip loosened, and his hands finally fell down to his sides.

"Arthur, you know that this war is inevitable. My men and I aren't the only ones fightin' for our freedom. Just tellin' me to let it all go won't end it. There will be no place for us to hide whether we win this war or not."

"So that is it. You are settling with letting yourself be hanged tomorrow."

Alfred's heart ached as he looked at the man before him. His shoulders shook as he clenched his hands into fists. His gaze never leaving the floor. He wanted nothing but to comfort the soldier, but there was too much that needed to be done. Too much in the way.

"I thought you were only hear to help Micah."

A curse escaped the soldier's lips as his gaze quickly shot back up to lock with Alfred's. A gasp escaped the smith as his chains rattled in the silence. Those piercing green eyes, even in the dim light, rimmed with such fierce devotion, pain, and anger all at once Alfred wasn't so sure how to continue.

"We kissed, and you wanted me, then you push me away, all while building walls around even your corpse to keep me from you. Why are you doing this if you know it is forfit?"

Alfred's eyes never wavered from that gaze, trapped in it as he was. Just as much as he was trapped in the cell. Chains clung to his soul as much as his physical form, only now they pulled in opposite directions.

"Maybe it wasn't at one time." Alfred began as he tried to swallow the lump that had been growing in his throat. Was he right in saying this? Was there a point in keeping some hope alive? Should he chance giving any hope to the soldier right now? So much was riding on both of them to carry out their roles. If Arthur slipped because he knew anything of what was to happen all would be lost.

Biting his lip, Alfred sighed finally pulling his gaze away from those eyes, standing back up straight and lifting his head up to look down his nose at the soldier. This seemed to throw Arthur off as he took a hesitant step back, but waited for Alfred's response with baited breath.

"But- I was reminded of what was at stake. If you can't respect my want to see a free America, and stand beside me in that fight than it is forfit. I thought maybe if you knew I cared about you you would stay, but you can't see past what your country has blinded you to." He let out a sigh, chains rattling as he did, "You're a devoted soldier, and so am I. We just happen to be on opposing sides. I'm sorry Arthur."

Silence fell over his last words as Alfred's ears became instantly accute to any sound. Listening out of desperation to hear an utterance of defiance at him, or betrayal towards his people. Neither came and Alfred wasn't surprised. Instead, he felt Arthur's presence begin to leave the cell, a warm light dissipating in the dark, creaking hinges, footsteps leading away, and a heavy door being closed and locked.

Emptiness, and he had opened his arms to it.

Feeling the warmth and soft cotten of the blanket on his shoulders, Alfred squinted his eyes as they began to burn, and with a shrug of his arms he allowed the blanket to fall off of him and pool on the ground. This was his punishment. Punishment for letting Micah be captured. Punishment for failing his father.

"Punishment for turning away an angel."

* * *

><p>Alfred was surprised when he woke to the dawn. Outside the thick walls he could hear bird song and found it ironic such cheerful music could open on what would be a dreary day.<p>

He took in a rattled breath and winced as cold seered through his chest. The winter air and poor environment had infected his lungs over the night. Alfred couldn't help but wonder if he would be remotely useful to anyone after this, even if plans came to pass.

"Damn- maybe I overestimated what my body can handle. This-" he coughed, "fuckin' sucks."

Just as he was about to attempt to stretch from his hunched position all night, the familiar creaking of the heavy jail door signaled someone's arrival.

Standing up straight, he waited for whoever it was to make their way down the hall to his cell. He noted that the footsteps were brisker and lighter than a certain general's and was pleased to know he wouldn't be taken anywhere by the likes of him.

As he thought, a young British soldier rounded the corner to confront him. Alfred was surprised the boy was by himself without any other aid or backup. Were they that cocky to think he wouldn't try to escape.

"Mr. Jones, I am Ensign Berkley, I will be escorting you to your trial."

_Berkley? That's the boy Arthur mentioned who'd been staying with Micah and Emily. If Arthur trusts him..._

"Well isn't that nice. I'm being escorted to my death sentence." He couldn't help but be snide.

"Ahh, Captain Kirkland said that you would come along willingly."

Alfred laughed but quickly regretted the action as the quick intake of air stung his lungs. "Well, I guess I shouldn't contradict the great Captain Kirkland."

The ensign hesitated before he unlocked the cell door and made to remove the cuffs from Alfred's wrists and ankles. The moment his arms were freed they fell down to his sides like a lifeless puppet. His strength wasted in trying to partially keep them upright throughout the night, rather than lean on the rusted metal that had held him bound. He rubbed at where the cuffs had dug into his skin, brushing off the bits of rusted metal that still clung there.

Once he was completely free from the wall, the boy then went for his own set of shackles to rebind Alfred once more. Alfred groaned at the sight of them but knew there was no fighting it.

"I am sorry about this."

Alfred's gaze shot up to look at the soldier, "I'm sorry, what?"

The ensign seemed to dwell over his words as he locked one of the cuffs in place. His expression was solemn as he took the other and began to place it over Alfred's wrist. He seemed to finally come to some conclusion as he relaxed with an audible sigh before speaking.

"Your desire for freedom. It is an admirable quality."

"Right. Look where that's gotten me."

The soldier paused again, "You are not wrong in wanting to be free. I have seen it in everyone's eyes since I came to this place and it has frightened me."

Alfred searched for the young man's gaze to bring it on his own. He wasn't so sure he could believe what he was hearing unless he saw the physical truth to the words. The soldier seemed to understand as he brought his gaze back from his task to look at Alfred. The boy's expression seemed old and tired. A far cry from someone of no more than twenty years.

"Why? Why frightened?"

A fierceness came into the young soldiers eyes then, along with a sign of a hidden sadness he had yet been able to overcome. "This is the New World. New life, new prosperity, new meaning, and yet it's people, who till the soil of their doubts, plant their seeds of hope, and grow the fruits of their dreams, have yet to even taste what is theirs before it is taken from them. This is what I have seen in all of you, and it is something we should not be taking away... but learning from it."

Alfred was at a loss for words. He felt himself sputtering as he just starred at this young man who spoke such wisdom well beyond both of their years combined. It wasn't until the boy held up a key in front of Alfred's face that he was brought back to reality.

"Unlike many of us-" with the key in hand, he than reached for Alfred's trouser pocket and hid it well inside, "-I choose to learn, and I am taking that step now." His gaze returned to lock with Alfred's. "I know this is not the end for you, Alfred F. Jones. You will become great one day."

Alfred hadn't even realized the heavy door to the jail had been opened once more until he heard yelling coming from the entrance.

"Yes, sir, I am on my way, sir!" Berkley shouted before turning back to Alfred and making sure the smith looked well prepared to face what was soon to come. "Right then, shall we."

Alfred vaughly felt himself ushered out into the hall, as his mind still tried to pick over what he had heard, as the cold metal of the key burned in his pocket.

It wasn't till his hands were being bound to the saddle of another British soldier's horse, and Berkley was mounting his own blue roan while turning away did Alfred snap to his senses.  
>"Wait!" Alfred turned to the retreating ensign. "What was your name?"<p>

All he was given was a smile.

The trial had went as Alfred assumed it would. He didn't even have to show up as the verdict had already been decided upon. According to General Dereks, he had sent men back to Quincy to investigate the the smith's home and had come up with a single musket with the same rifling and adjusted weight that went along with the bronze muskets pulled from the water. They also found the stash of bronze he had hidden under the floor boards of his shed. Alfred had to admit he was impressed with the thoroughness of their search.

He had been antagonized to reveal how he had crafted the altered muskets, yet he remained quiet as ever. This infuriated the British gunsmith, demanding to hold off from hanging Alfred until they rung out his usefulness but the judge merely denied and told the man to work harder in learning it himself. Alfred couldn't help but laugh at this poor excuse for a gunsmith. He wondered if the weapons had even been shot and tested. Did they even know the difference the rifling did to the weapons?

After the spectacle with the gunsmith, the judge called an end to the trial, and then carried out that Alfred F. Jones was to be executed by hanging for treachery against the Crown.

Alfred went willingly, but the lack of Micah's name being brought up to announce the boy's release kept Alfred on edge. Surely they would have held both of their trials at the same time. Micah's involvement was directly tied to Alfred's claim of guilty. The boy should have been released.

_Perhaps he already has been._

As the trial ended, the procession of civilians and British soldiers moved out onto the Commons where the familiar gallows stood for all to be witness to.

Alfred took note that there were many women sniffling and angry mutterings amongst the men in the crowd that this was not a favorable decision. The smith had to say he was impressed with the colonists of Boston, for showing pity and strife against the British judge's verdict out in the open. It was something that could have them all behind bars. However, Alfred couldn't help but notice the colonists still far out numbered the British soldiers that swarmed around the edges of the crowds. Boston was under heavy restraint after the Boston Massacre incident, yet still the bodies were few compared to what could overwhelm them if enough people had the courage to do so.

_These people have all grown their fruit. They're just too afraid to pluck it._

The gallows stood high against a line of trees as they faced the main road from the park. It held three posts, each with a noose tied and waiting. It was an eerie sight as many had felt those ropes tighten around their necks over the years for a multitude of reasons. Be the victims guilty or innocent, the noose would never care, as each body swung the same.

Alfred felt himself pushed along by a soldier. The point of his musket's bayonet threateningly close if he happened to falter, which happened often now as his cough had grown worse over the course of the day. At one point Alfred had stopped completely as his lungs screamed with the growing infection, only to cause him another pain as the bayonet cut into his back suddenly. He had whirled around to face the soldier but was quickly shoved to the ground by another, his face finding a pile of wet mud as he did.

No one in the crowd seemed to appreciate this as they began to argue amongst themselves. They all knew what Alfred represented for them and seeing what might as well have been their fruit that they had toiled for struck down was only adding further bruising.

_Build it louder and bigger. Make them see exactly what I want them to see. Make them react how I want them to react._

_"You see son, a deer is most cautious while it knows it's guard will be down, but if you distract it," His father had picked up the buck antlers they had brought with them and crashed them together which quickly grabbed the deer's attention from where it had been eating. "-It no longer knows it's guard is still down." Alfred watched now as the deer slowly began to stalk towards the sound of the clashing antlers that his father held in his gloves hands._

_Alfred had bit his lip, trying to make sense of his father's words. "So rather than hide and stay quiet, sometimes it's better to make noise in order to incite what you want to happen?"_

_His father smiled and patted Alfred on the shoulder. "You will grow up to be something great." His father lined up his shot on the slowly approaching deer, and pulled the trigger._

The moment Alfred's foot found it's way to the top of the platform, the only thing that he saw out in front of him was a mass of people that were ready to fight, but had no direction. They were all disjointed and scattered. Carrying on with one another, yet not one focusing on the same thing as another. He needed to be that distraction. That focal point that they would all look to, and move the way he wanted them to.

"So this is what you let happen!" A few faces turned. Not enough. "One man dies before you under charges that you all have been wanting since the moment we first stepped foot on this soil."

"Bloody yank, shut up before I shut you up myself!" Alfred ignored the soldier as he felt his arms that were tied behind him pulled aggressively to stand over the trap door at his feet. The noose lowering to take hold of his throat.

"Did our ancestors not want freedom? Did they not take that perilous journey into the unknown to simply continue to stoop to British rule?" Cries began to come up from the crowd now as more faces turned up to him.

"Knock it off!" A blow from the butt of a musket hit him square across the jaw which only incited further booing from _his_ audience.

"Tell me then!" Alfred's eyes lifted to gaze out over the roofs of the city, there he met the glint off steel in an upper window... he could push on. "Will this gallows see more of us... no, more AMERICANS litter below it! Or will it be burned to the ground to say no?" Shouts and cries began to come up louder now from the crowd. This was it. This is what his father had wanted him to do. That fire needed to be fanned back to a brightness that had been shaken from it. Now, it just needed kindling to spread.

"General! He's innocent!"

"You will stand down, Captain! I have spoken with the judge and he is favorable in his decision. These rebel's spirits need a bit of crushing."

Alfred wasn't sure he was hearing correctly. It was only until after the disgusting body of General Dereks appeared over the platform edge holding onto a small form, now struggling, in his arms, did Alfred feel his legs almost give way from under him.

A small boy, his head covered by the same burlap sack as the previous night, his hands and feet bound, and what were gagged cries, came from the thrashing form. Alfred couldn't do anything, and at the sight of blond hair sticking out from under the tie of the bag, he knew.

_Micah._

"But sir, surely this will only cause more uprising!"

"Captain Kirkland!" The general spun on his step to face the determined yet desperate expression of Arthur Kirkland. He stood stiff and ready for a verbal assault, or his position of command ripped from him where he stood, but he did not back down as the general fumed at him. "Your merit is being tested, hear and now! You claim you were spying on the rebels in the forest, yet, you carried a pistol with the royal seal upon it. The barrel of that pistol was riffled, much in the same way this rebel had altered his own muskets. Do you deny that you have been consorting with the enemy?"

"Since when am I suddenly on trial? You are not in a position to accuse me of such allegations!"

"I _am_ putting myself in such a position, Captain!" With that final sentence, Dereks grabbed hold of the central noose on the platform and quickly tied it around Micah's tiny neck, while the boy screamed and cried around the thick rope that gagged him.

"If you are innocent, Captain, than you will see this boy hang."

Alfred could do nothing but watch in absolute fear that quickly turned to disbelief as Arthur... His Arthur!... hesitated and then backed off.

_"Arthur. No. You said you'd save him. You said you'd save him!_

"Smart man." And with a final quick movement, Alfred felt his feet fall out from under him.

Followed by a gun shot. 

**A/N: I SO was not planning on leaving you guys with that, but for the next chapter I feel that that scene is best left for the beginning of Chapter 12. For starters, it will make it so much easier for me to jump right in and write it, as that sometimes can be difficult for me. I hope you guys won't hate me too much with this update. It was pretty intense throughout, but we are talking the Revolutionary War here.**

**Thank you all so much for your continued support in this little fanfic of mine. Like I've mentioned before, I rarely write fanfiction as I am by no stretch of the means a good writer. lol I prefer sticking to pretty pictures. Unfortunetly, a comic is such a massive project to undertake to tell a story with only one person that it wouldn't get done. However, I do hope you can continue to find some enjoyment with the scenes I illustrate from this fic (still need to get them uploaded).**

**The next chapter will be out much faster than this one. I'm afraid I've been preparing for a convention next month and I made a 32pg USxUK sketchbook to have on hand there and that has taken a load of what little spare time I have. Sorry, again! I promise I won't leave you guys hanging for long after something like this.**  
><strong>See you in chapter 12! :D *love*<strong>

* * *

><p>Follow me on tumblr for status updates for "Quartering Acts" as well as USxUK fanart: <em>ahro. tumblr. com<em>


	13. Chapter 12

**Quartering Acts**  
><strong>By Ahro<strong>  
><em>Warning: Sexual situations, language and violence.<em>  
><strong>Chapter 12<strong>

Mass hysteria was all he could put to the scene, and it all seemed to develop in slow motion before him.

Screams of outrage.

Gunfire.

Flickering of flames.

And a tiny pair of legs that swung limp above his head.

Every movement, every thought, every breath was erratic as arms grabbed at him from behind. Eyes never leaving that form. Words seeming to die in the air before they even escaped his lungs. Was he even saying anything? Would anyone listen to him.

_No! Why are you pulling me away? He's right there! Save him! He's right there!_

Faces moved in and out of his view, mouths opening and closing, his form being shaken. Everything was incomprehensible. All he knew was he was being dragged further and further away from that small form. That small form that was filled with so much happiness and optimism. Always a smile. Always a laugh.

_"Micah."_

_"Ahh- I'm sorry, Mr. Jones! I was just puttin' back Hero after his run, sir. I was just about to brush him and give him fresh oats and-"_

_"Do you need to help your mother with dinner?"_

_The boy had been caught off guard._

_"Dinner? I usually help her in the kitchen all the time, Mr. Jones, she says I'm a right help after all. I was goin' to help her today like all days, Mr. Jones."_

_"Would she be against you acceptin' an invitation from me to attend dinner at my home?"_

_His eyes had brightened._

_"You- you're askin' if I will join you for dinner, Mr. Jones?"_

_I had nodded._

_"Well- I-I don't think it'd be a problem! I can run back and help with what she needs and be right back if that's okay with you, Mr. Jones?"_

_He was now bouncing where he stood, his excitement almost to the breaking point as he tried to keep it contained._

_"That's fine. Tell your mother I hope she is well."_

_"Oh I will, sir!"_

_I had walked to the barn doors, my attention quickly being grabbed by the soldier who now stood pondering the chopping block and axe in the distance._

_"I will finish up here with Hero and Crimson, and then I'll run on home to mom."_

_I paused to turn back around to look at the boy, "Crimson?"_

_"Yes! I thought that name fit the Lieutenant's mare here." He had said, quickly moving to the tied mare that accompanied the stall opposite Hero's. She had wickered contentedly as the boy patted her neck._

_"The soldier you say." I had looked back outside, watching as the man in question arced his back, axe in his hands, as he fell through in cutting his first block of wood._

My father had said a man who believes he knows what side he fights for, and yet faulters when it matters most, can be persuaded to change. Perhaps this was what he meant.

But he had let him swing.

_"Yes, the British Lieutenant, Mr. Jones! He's awfully kind! I was expectin' a whippin' when I didn't dismount Hero right away. He actually went and caught me before I fell. I'd have been alright, Mr. Jones, but it was still really nice of him to show such concern. He even asked if I would take care of Crimson for him!" He had paused a moment, a small hand going up to cover his massive grin. "He even said he'd pay me a shilling!"_

_"Did he now?" My interest had been peeked. A British soldier offering to pay an American child. Could have been just a joke. "Well then, I guess such courtesy deserves a treat as well. Go inform the Lieutenant I would like for him to join us for dinner once you finish up with the horses. Afterwards, be sure to go speak with your mother for approval that you may join us."_

_"Yes, Mr. Jones! Oh- and I know my mom made a fresh apple pie this afternoon. I'll bring that along too! You'll love my mom's apple pie!"_

_I had nodded and the boy went about taking care of the horses as he was instructed._

_"Oh, and Micah-" I had paused before venturing out towards the soldier, "just call me Alfred." I left him then. With the brightest smile I had ever seen the child display on that young face._

_One that I wouldn't ever see again._

The smoke from the now rising flames licked at the smith's eyes as he was pulled out from under the gallows. Four men were pulling his still fighting form. Who they were he didn't care. All he knew was screaming, crying, and death as it littered about him.

Until he looked up, and the world around him quieted to a stand still. As if time was waiting for Alfred now- green eyes captured his own blues. Calm, resolute, quiet- the purest form of a soldier stood tall on the wooden gallows before him. Even while blood smeared his face and dyed his blond hair red he stood straight withholding any guesses as to his thoughts. A statue. A killer.

"I TRUSTED YOU!"

He was pulled back.

"YOU WERE MEANT TO SAVE HIM!"

He fought forward.

"HE WAS MY BROTHER!"

Tears breaking through.

"WHY, ARTHUR?"

"He's too strong! We can't hold him!"

"Get him out of there!"

"ARTHUR!"

And it all went dark.

* * *

><p>"It's been a week, Alfred. You need to rest."<p>

A screeching of a chair against wooden floorboards followed by a slam on a wooden table made the occupants of the small room cringe. It was raining heavily outside as the pattering against the roof and windows matched that of the rage from the young man in the center of the room. All eyes were trained on him, yet many had begun to waver on listening to his leadership.

A fire that once blazed in Alfred's eyes had begun to weaken even as his temper flared. His strength was weakening as the infection in his lungs continued to fester. His men would not listen to weakness however, and that alone pushed Alfred to remain strong.

"Doctor. Resting is something we can not afford to fall to. Since the Continental Congress convened two days ago the Brits have grown relentless against your homes and your families. Do you believe _they_ will rest? Will the British sit idle while we take our fucking time to get organized?" It couldn't have come at a worse time. In the middle of his speech his breathing convulsed which wracked his body with spasms, as he coughed while bent over the table and clutched at his chest.

He felt hands at his back and his arms which only angered the smith further as he stood up, pushing them away from him. He had regained his breathing but the rage in his eyes pierced through each member of his small rebel group. Finally, they landed on the doctor who just stood there and shook his head.

"You're right, Alfred, they won't stop. None of them will ever stop unless strong people like you keep pressing them back." The doctor had moved closer to the smith now. The man was slightly hesitant in his movements, but it would have been hardly noticeable if Alfred wasn't already on guard. He watched as the doctor gently rested his hands on Alfred's shoulders, trying his best to convey his concern, yet Alfred still tensed with the contact. "However, if you don't rest some you won't be around to push them back."

Alfred couldn't help but turn his gaze away from the doctor's. He knew he was being foolish. Ever since his men had pulled him from the gallows that day he had been in a constant state of unrest. Every time he would be forced to lay down he would see that same image of those small feet hanging in the air. As if they were burned into the back of his eyelids; tormenting him at how powerless he had been.

His lungs continued to grow worse with the strain of the infection, and Alfred tried to endure the multitude of exams the doctor put him through. The cold air was the worst as it only inflamed his lungs more. Each night he was forced to breath through a wet rag that had been soaked in boiling water over a fire. The warmth seemed to help, but due to the onset of winter it didn't last long. It was the same infection that had taken his youngest brother from him while he still sucked at their mother's breast. Few people had ever survived the infection, and at the rate Alfred was pushing himself he wouldn't either.

"Gentlemen," The doctor looked out over the room of scattered men, "if you all wouldn't mind. I'd like to have a word with Alfred here."

They all agreed quickly as they all held great concern for the blacksmith, and so far Alfred had pulled them through each event they were put through. Each plan he had come up with and executed perfectly. All except the one. One in which he never thought would have failed.

After the men had cleared out of the single room home, which they had found abandoned in the deep woods out far west of Boston, the Doctor moved Alfred to sit nearest the fire and handed him one of the rags the smith had grown accustomed to using. It made the smith feel weak at having to do such a thing, but it was the only relief he could find. He was grateful that the doctor had at least ushered the men out from seeing him as such.

"Alfred-" that same lecture voice he had been hearing for days came out and the smith couldn't help the groan that escaped him. "Alfred... I know you've heard it all already. The men have done nothing but caudal you since that day. They have great respect for you, and that's why I'm not going to reprimand you again for being the disobedient patient I know you're going to continue to be."

This caught Alfred off guard. He quickly moved the hot rag from in front of his nose and mouth to protest before a hand was held up in front of him; while at the same time pointing to make sure Alfred kept the rag in place before he continued.

"You're a strong man, Alfred F. Jones. You are the striking image of your father and just as much loved and respected. You've gone through much in your short life to easilly have out weighted what many of us here have done in a lifetime. It goes without saying that you are the true spirit that so many of us aspire to be." The older man stood up now to walk over to one of the windows. He looked out it, observing the men who now chatted around a small pit fire they had built under an overhang from the rain. The older man's features seemed to relax some. The stress of many years almost washing away from the doctor.

He lifted one hand to rest on the cold window before finally finding his words to speak again.

"You show bravery in adversity, strength through pain, and love through grief. When many of these men would have fallen you have picked them up and pushed them onward." He stepped away from the window now, turning to catch Alfred's gaze that had drifted to the fire as he listened. "And yet, throughout all of this, with all that you give, you never realize exactly what you're loosing, because you believe you have nothing to loose. But you're wrong, dear boy."

A sigh escaped the smith as he moved the rag from his mouth and slouched over in his seat, pausing the doctor in his speech. "I'm sorry, Dr. Shannon, but you knew I wasn't going to be returnin' after all of this. I've told you for years your daughter deserves someone better."

Alfred stopped and sat back in his chair quickly as a laugh escaped the older man before him.

"I figured you would think I'd be talking about Jessie." He smiled, while Alfred looked on at him confused. "Jessie actually came to me, on one of my trips back to Quincy, and I had to give it to the girl- she has trully grown up to be just like her mother, bless her soul." He looked upwards for a moment before continuing, "She's always been stubborn, but this time she said to me, that what she sees in you is not someone she wants to spend her life with. She said that was far too selfish a request, but rather that you spend your life doing what you've been doing. You're married to this soil, to the metal you mold, and to the lives you've touched defending them and their ideals. Your father started it, and you will finish it." The doctor then walked over to Alfred as he still sat far back in his seat. The man's aged hands slowly resting on his shoulders once more as if the simple gesture had been more weighted now. As if it were difficult to even touch the smith where he sat. The man took in a deep breath and with a relaxed sigh added, "You will become great one day."

Alfred wanted to be angry. To push backwards from where he sat and argue the doctor's points. Who was Alfred to the rest of these men. They all fought along side him, showing the same bravery and courage that he displayed himself. There was no difference between them. The doctor was wrong, Alfred trully did have nothing to lose. Years ago he had come to terms with this. Now even more so, as the two people in his life had vanished completely. Just as quickly as they had entered it. There was nothing, and that was what made it so easy for him to push through each day.

But for once, Alfred couldn't be angry. His normal reactions betrayed him as he sat back and stared for a moment before looking over his shoulder at the quietly crackling flames in the hearth.

"It's odd."

Alfred felt the doctor's form before him stiffen a moment before relaxing again, giving Alfred a chance to collect his thoughts before continuing.

"You're the second person to have said those words to me."

The doctor took a step back to look Alfred over, "It's the truth then. I'm sure more than one other person has felt the same way about you even if they haven't said it."  
>Alfred furrowed his brow as he scrutinzed the fire before him. As if within it's light it held all the answers. "With such a bleak outlook for me, you'd think people would say otherwise. You've even diagnosed me of havin' no more than a few months maybe."<p>

Alfred's nonchalant tone must have struck the doctor off guard, as he took a step back and quickly averted his gaze.

"You heard that."

"It's not like it isn't obvious, Dr. Shannon." Alfred then stood up to walk up to the doctor. A hand resting heavily on the physician's shoulder. "I guess if you look at that on the bright side, I still have time to fulfill those folks ideas of me, right?" It was a genuine smile the smith gave to the doctor. Not one that was forced, or pained like the many the smith was sure the doctor saw on numerous occassions. It was a natural habit the smith had always had, even over the past four years when his struggles were the most evident, he would be in town, hocking his wares and always smiling brightly. Not just because he was selling, but because it was the only time he seemed to ever forget his worries.

It was this Alfred- that the smith wanted to portray. To bring back that confidence in the people around him no matter what obstacle lay in front of them. It was this hope that Alfred wanted to give to the doctor, regardless of what contradictions Alfred might argue the doctor put him through. He'd always move forward. Always persistant in wanting something better for everyone.

"With that attitude I can't see a little cold ever stopping you, Alfred." The smith knew that smile he was being given was forced, but it was all he was going to be allowed. He knew he needed to get better for everyone's sake, but just how much time would that take.

Alfred was saved of having to think about his own health when the doctor changed the subject to a much more pressing matter.

"As to the real reason why I wanted to talk to you alone, Alfred," he paused. "I was recently contacted by my connection in Boston. He is a British soldier, and that's why I hold you in the strictest confidence to keep this between us. The men will not find the idea of my man on the inside being a Brit."

Alfred nodded his understanding, yet he couldn't help the pain that seered his chest. One that wasn't caused by the infection.

"You have met him before. He left you with that key that helped us in removing your shackles."

"After you conveniently knocked me out."

The doctor huffed, "You weren't relenting very easilly."

Alfred felt his blood pressure rising as he had had this conversation before. After he had woken up, he found himself in the middle of the woods in a low pitched tent. The first thing he knew was his neck ached severely, and upon feeling the raised skin from the rope burn it all came flooding back to him, and he had lashed out uncontrollably.

"I won't go there right now, doc. So, that Berkley fellow is your contact? He's just an ensign though. What can he do?"

"A lot in fact as no one suspects him, and because of that he was able to recover the muskets we lost."

"WHAT?" The sudden outburst was not planned well as Alfred's lungs quickly protested the extreme move causing the smith to double over from coughing. The doctor quickly grabbed up a fresh rag from the still hot water near the fire and handed it to Alfred's outstretched hand. God he hated how weak he'd become in just a few days. He had made the mistake of looking in a mirror when they first reached the small abandoned house they would come to call their base. Now he didn't even want to think of the kind of spectacle he made in front of his men. He felt pathetic and weak while these men still looked up to him.

_Dad, what did you do to leave these men in such desperation that they would turn to your son for guidence. You never taught me how to lead a rebellion even one of fifteen men._

After the coughing fit subsided Alfred turned back to the doctor, "Repeat that- he was able to get the muskets?"

The doctor nodded. "Yes, with the help of a Captain Kirkland." He paused suddenly as his gaze locked with Alfred's. It took everything the smith could to keep his expression uncaring but the doctor seemed to know better. "_The_ Captain Kirkland whom you rescued from the river that night. The one who you released back into British hands while allowing yourself to be captured."

"Hey now, you put me in charge of this unit! I never asked for it so don't come down on me!" So he was to be attacked now. From good news about muskets to being reprimanded like a child. There was only so much the smith would stand.

"You're in charge of this unit, but that also means you need to communicate with your unit. We had no idea what happened to you."

"You followed through on the original plans. What does it matter how I executed it."

This time the doctor was in the smith's face, "It does matter, Alfred. The whole plan relied on you causing a distraction."

Now the game was on.

"A distraction!" Alfred stood to his full height, pushing the doctor back from where he had been leaning over him in his seat. "A distraction that was meant to get Micah out of there! Yet all any of you cared about was to retrieve the fucking muskets!" The doctor's eyes were lit with fear as Alfred stormed towards him, backing him up furthur towards the wall. "That little boy had so much to live for... and you did nothing!" He could feel his eyes beginning to burn with the onset of tears but his rage wouldn't allow it. "There was time! Jacob had the shot on the roof! He could have aimed for Micah's rope! He never should have died! He never should have-" It was too much, as Alfred's legs gave way from under him and he slumped to the floor. His hands grasping at the doctor's long coat as he fell, tears now too overwhelming to withhold.

"Doctor Shannon! We heard yelling- is everything-" The footsteps at the door stopped quickly as the men took witness of the scene.

"He shouldn't have-" Alfred's fist pounded against the wooden floor, his body racked with sobs once again. He had been inconsolable in the first few days after he had woken up. Before it had been anger, and his men had to restrain him from hurting mostly himself. As the week progressed he seemed to regain his composure, but now the tears he had been holding back came out in a rush that he couldn't stop.

Alfred could barely distinguish what was going on around him as his heart ached. He felt hands, gently, rest on his back and shoulders. A soothing voice trying to bring him back to his senses. Eventually it did work, and he was able to recognize the doctor's voice above the worried whispers of his men.

"Alfred- Alfred we've been over this. Had Jacob tried to retrain the gun on Micah's rope there would have been a much higher chance he would have missed, and even you wouldn't be here now. We weren't anticipating Micah to be up there. He was suppose to be released."

"And he wasn't-" another fist against the floor as he squinted his eyes to try and bury the tears that continued to escape. "-cause that asshole fell through on his word! And I trusted him!"

"Alfred, listen, we don't know what happened on your Captain's side of things. You made arrangements with him you declined to inform us of. All we had planned was to get you out of there, after hoping Micah would be released on your claim of guilty, and recover the muskets. The muskets have taken a few days but Berkley was able to finally recover them. That is the point we're at now, Alfred. You need to stop dwelling on what has happened, and focus on what's ahead of us." Alfred shook his head, thoughts spinning out of control but he had found himself only repeating, "Damn him," like a mantra.

"Doc, what do we do about him?"

"I've done everything I can for him. Right now he needs to help himself."

Alfred felt the pairs of hands leave his back as the few men who had crouched down beside him stood back up. He heard sighs of disappointment and grief, but it was all too soon. Too soon for him to so easilly forget about that small boy who had so much left to live for. He wanted to show him a free America. Where he could begin his own family, and raise his children without worrying whether their next meal would be squandered for a soldier from over seas. Yet all that had been taken away all because of one man's pride.

_Right when it mattered most you choked, and all you did was stand there. Even as I called out your name, amidst all the screams, gunfire and smoke, you stared at me without a single expression or uttered word of why._

He heard the door shut as he continued to kneel on the floor, hunched over and resting on his forearms. A crack of thunder overhead and the rain started a new onslaught yet no one came back into the building.

His body shook as he fisted his hands against the floor. His tears had begun to dry but the flames of rage began to replace them instead. He bit his lip, drawing blood easilly as the flicker of that man's once smiling face came into his vision.

"Why-"

That face was slowly eaten by flames and replaced with the one that now haunted him along side those small feet that dangled in the air.

"Why, Arthur... did you betray me?"

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><p>The rest of the afternoon came and went with the wind, rain, and clash of thunder ever present. The next morning opened in just the same way only Alfred woke to a surprise that he had in fact fallen asleep to begin with. His pure exhaustion in both physical and mental states had finally caught up to him to allow him a dreamless sleep. He couldn't say he wasn't thankful for the respite, but it also put him on guard.<p>

"Doc!" _Bad idea._ Alfred bent forward quickly as another coughing spasm started up due to his shout. It did do the trick in alerting the doctor in question to Alfred's side, much that Alfred would have preferred going about it another way.

"Alfred! You're awake." A hot rag was quickly pushed in front of the smith's face which he took grudgingly. "You wore yourself out last night so we put you to bed. At least you were able to get a few more hours than you've been getting."

"Helps when your dreams aren't hauntin' you." He said past the rag against his mouth.

"And they will continue unless you put the blame to rest." Alfred remained quiet as his gaze drifted to stare at the blank walls next to him. Finding them far more intriguing than the doctor's attention just then. A heavy sigh then escaped the older man. "Alfred, you say you place the blame on that British Captain, but I know that's simply a front for the men."

Alfred sent a glare at the doctor out of the corner of his eye but remained quiet.

The doctor continued, "I've watched you during those few hours of sleep you had found since that day. Each one you cried out for Micah. That I understood and sympathized with you." There was a long pause as the doctor seemed to take a moment to almost gauge what his next words would evoke out of the smith. It seemed like whatever it was that needed to be said was more important than his silence so he pressed on.

"You also spoke of the captain." No reaction as Alfred assumed he'd have mentioned the soldier along side Micah's name. It wasn't until the man's next words were said that Alfred wasn't so sure he knew how to react to. "You cried out to him, repeating Arthur's name, but not with anger or contempt as I'd have expected, but with pain, remorse, and longing." The doctor looked down at his hands in his lap, "Alfred... what happened between you and this man?"

It was enough; before the doctor could react, Alfred had pushed past him and fled the small house. Amidst shouts from his men he ran and ran until his lungs finally gave in before he was forced to stop. Rain was still slamming against the trees and wet ground around him. It was freezing and all Alfred had ran out wearing was a loose shirt, pants and no socks. His bare feet had already started bleeding from where he had stepped on sharp rocks and pine cones, but nothing phased him more than those words the doctor had left him with.

_Pain. Remorse. Longing. No, I can't- I won't feel those things anymore for him! I don't care what he may try to do to win back my favor. Nothing will win back Micah's life._

"ALFRED!"

He could hear them, rushing through the thick brush and jumbled trees. He knew he had to go back. Perhaps the doctor had been right on reprimanding him like a child because that was how he was acting right now.

_I just... don't want to be like this._

His knees shook and he gave in to their weakness bringing him to kneel in the wet leaves and mud. He could barely see through his glasses as the splatter of mud had caked on the lenses. He wasn't even sure what direction he had ran in, nor did he have much knowledge of the area they had camped in. Were their other soldiers around? Might he have made enough noise to alert someone out patrolling? Had he put his men further into danger?

"ALFRED! Where are you?"

"ALFRED! Where are ya boy?"

"Alfred-!"

"Al-fred-!"

"...fred!"

"You shouldn't be out here."

His head was spinning, yet the voice was so close. A loud snorting. Tall, powerful black legs were in front of him. A pair of arms dragged him to his feet and hoisted him upwards. More jostling. A hand gently running through his matted hair.

"... idiot."

"Mr. Jones?"

"Ugh-" His hand went to his head as he tried feebly to keep the room from spinning. This was beginning to happen to him far too frequently.

"Mr. Jones. Are you feeling alright, sir?"

A cup of water was handed to him which he took with a muttered 'thanks' before downing it in one gulp. The cup was taken back and Alfred was left to try and sum up what had happened to him, where he was now, and with whom.

Rubbing at his eyes, he was finally able to bring the room into focus, and more importantly the man who sat next to him.

Once realization hit him, Alfred jumped back and slammed against a wall with a moan, inciting cursing as he quickly rubbed at where he hit.

"Mr. Jones, are you alright?"

"Ugh- I'll survive, but what is a damn redcoat doin' nursin' me? Why not shoot me on sight?"

There was a pause before the man answered. "I'm under orders to watch out for you, Mr. Jones."

"Who's orders?"

"Captain Kirkland's, sir."

The smith's eyes opened wide at the name, and once he could focus beyond the blazing red uniform in front of him he looked up to stare at none other than the ensign.

"Berkley?"

"That's correct, sir."

"You... weren't the one who found me in the woods?"

The man paused once more, "No sir."

"I need to get out of here."

"Wait- sir, don't-!" Alfred had tried to get up from where he sat but the ensign pushed him back against the wall. "There's no need. Doctor Shannon and a few of your men are already on their way here. This is the drop point for them to pick up your muskets."

"My muskets?" It was then that he noticed them. A large, heavy woven sack was partially open revealing the familiar muzzle of one of his bronze muskets. "They're... all here?" He slowly found his way to his feet, shuffling through the dry hay that littered, what Alfred now realized, was an abandoned barn. Kneeling down beside the sack he loosened the drawstring and there they were. All of the muskets he had toiled over slowly in the past four years was laying in front of him. Completely undamaged, but one in particular caught his eye immediately. It was the only musket that was still fashioned from steel, and the only one that had a delicate script engraved into it. A script which read, "For Liberty".

_My father's rifle._

"H-how did you manage to get all of these back?" His voice wavered as his fingers glided over the delicate engraving.

"After firing them the gunsmith couldn't pinpoint what was so unique about them. He knew the barrel had been rifled but after shooting it he couldn't make out any difference, other than the powder clogged up in the rifling making it more difficult to reload. He said they were actually more encumbering than they would have been useful so they planned on destroying them."

Alfred couldn't help but laugh, "And I'm sure the fool's target was within a hundred yards, right?"

"Of course, sir."

"Yeah, they would think that." He then replaced his father's rifle with the others and retied the precious bundle before getting back to his feet, dusting himself off as he did. Turning to the younger man he couldn't help but be surprised looking the boy over in his striking red uniform, and still he assisted the Americans. To think such men existed. "Your name isn't Berkley, is it."

"Does it matter who I am, sir?"

"Yes, it does actually. Because after havin' been around that Captain of yours I've finally begun to notice that your accent seems forced." He began to move towards the ensign now, watching him as he stood his ground, unshaken by Alfred's approach. "You're not British-" He finally stopped directly in front of the shorter man, looking down at him while the soldier never averted his gaze, waiting for the answer to be spoken aloud. "-you're American."

"Yes, sir."

"B-but why all of this? How did you get into their military? Why the accent? Where are you from?"

The man smiled as he shook his head.

"You really don't remember me. Do you, Alfred." His accent dropped with his last words and then it clicked.

"John?"

A nod.

"But- your father took you to the south. How did this all happen?" Alfred gestured to the uniform.

"Seven years ago, after we had moved south, my father was contacted by family we have in Birkshire. My father and mother had traveled over seas well before I was born looking for a new life, as many others had before. Apparently, they had stayed in contact with my aunt and uncle back in England. I was never made aware of this until my father packed up our things and decided we'd be heading back to England." He paused for a moment and when Alfred didn't say anything he continued.

"While I was living there I had a tough time growing acquainted. My accent was foreign, and that immediately alienated me. Because of this I forced myself into picking up their accent. I was laughed at to begin with but eventually they grew bored of me. It wasn't until a few years past and problems were beginning to arise in the colonies that my dad had grown fed up with it all. We both enlisted in the Royal Army. He was sent over first while I was put under training by General Dereks."

Alfred almost gagged, "You were in Dereks' regiment?"

"Yes, but you no longer need to worry about him."

"Why is that?"

"Because I shot him."

It couldn't have been more surreal. That voice. It felt like a burning knife had just been driven through his chest, causing Alfred to stumble forward before gaining his balance to turn around. He felt John's hands grip his arms to help steady him, and for a moment Alfred was thankful for his presence, cause at the sight of Arthur Kirkland before him he wasn't so sure what action he would take.

"Berkley. You said you'd leave him here and move out."

"My apologies, Captain," the accent had been replaced, "there were a few things I wanted to talk with Mr. Jones about."

"Well I hope you've concluded your talk. His men are not far south from here.

"Yes, sir."

"Mount up then; we should have been back an hour ago."

"Yes, sir."

He felt John move around him. A firm squeeze on the smith's shoulder as he did. Their voices began to grow muffled. John was saying something. The other man nodded a reply, but his face was stoic. His eyes. Those green green eyes did nothing but stare back at the smith. Penetrating. Never letting go. All he did was choke Alfred's words in his throat. The smith's thoughts, forming and immediately unwinding into an intelligible mess.

Finally, the man turned away, those eyes releasing their grip on him. The barn door was opened as John was the first to exit. Only rather than following immediately behind, Arthur halted to allow the door to shut in his face, and stood there. Stood there in the quiet of the barn. Nothing but the soft rustle of leaves, and occasional shift of hay that had been caught by a breeze coming down through the rafters lingered between them.

Alfred seemed to finally pull the strands of his scattered thoughts together as he took one step towards the other man, only he was quickly halted when the soldier spoke first.

"Such an idiot."

A gust of wind suddenly rumbled against the old wooden walls, causing Alfred to jump where he stood. He felt as if the man in front of him was a bird, ready to take flight at the slightest provocation. Any sudden move or audible intake of breath might spook him to run. Alfred wasn't sure if he was ready for that yet.

"You honestly ran out in the freezing rain with nothing on but a shirt and trousers while you're dying from that cold in your lungs."

It was said with little feeling. As if Alfred was just a child who had run off and was being scolded for not returning when he was called. So nonchalant. It was just like the soldier to be cold in his words.

"Is that what you came here to say to me?" Alfred stared at the soldier's back. His hands beginning to regain some feeling to them as they clutched up into fists by his sides. "Scold me for being a child; one that's dyin', but ignore any words for the one that needed to be saved."

He watched the man's shoulders jump slightly at Alfred's words. The wall was up but he could break it.

"So what now? Where do you go- what do you do- after you knowingly stood there and let that man pull that lever?" He had begun to walk towards him, dry hay crunching under his feet as he did. The man never said anything, nor did he turn around. He continued to stare at the shut door in front of him. Alfred thought he heard talking outside but ignored it.

"Alfred, there is much I need to discuss with you, but you are not in your right mind to listen to me."

He was swift. With one hand, Alfred gripped the soldier by the arm and spun the soldier around to face the smith. The soldier banged heavily against the closed door as his eyes went wide in shock to stare up at the raging blacksmith. Those eyes didn't remain that way for long before narrowing in anger upon hearing the wooden lock clunk into place behind him.

The soldier was pinned. His back was up against the newly locked door, while the smith's muscled body pressed towards him. Alfred rested his hands on either side of the soldier's head to make sure all of the man's attention was on him. He would not allow the soldier to brush him off. Not after a week of pain and anguish he had to suffer through. It was the soldier who had made the call to not act. Now, the man would answer for it.

"I beg to differ, Arthur. I don't think I'll ever be in the _right_ mind anymore. So now is the perfect time for you to tell me everything."

The soldier's glare never wavered. He didn't as much as flinch, as Alfred moved his face threateningly closer still. Alfred's blood was thrumming through his veins so quickly that the sound echoed in his ears. He began to wonder if the soldier could hear the deafening pounding of his heart as well.

A heavy sigh, "I have nothing to say to you right now, Alfred."

"Yes you do! Yes you do, Arthur!" He slammed his fist against the wooden door. "Tell me why! Tell me why you let him die, dammit! You said you would save him! All I wanted from you was to save him! To save Micah, and you just... stood there." His breathing hitched as he felt the now familiar pain cut through his lungs, readying for another coughing fit, but Alfred forced it back. He shook his head, gritted his teeth, and squinted his eyes. The weakness that this sickness did to him pissed him off even more, and now with Arthur directly in front of him to see it.

"Fuckin'- dammit all!" Another heavy fist hit the door again.

"Alfred."

The sound of the man's voice was so quiet Alfred wasn't even sure he had heard it. While the pain began to subside, and he could just breath enough beyond short intakes of air, Alfred slowly opened his eyes to look at the soldier in front of him.

"Arthur- I- just don't... why? Please, just... make this pain end." And in a swift movement Alfred crushed his lips against the soldier's, pulling the man into a bruising, possessive kiss that demanded so much of the soldier that Alfred wasn't sure he would give up.

Alfred stood there for a moment, hoping that in bliss it would all just go away, but Arthur never gave in. He remained motionless, pressed up against the door with Alfred's weight baring down on him. Realization began to settle in, and Alfred slowly began to pull away. This was not meant to be easy. Things weren't meant to go back to the way they were before. He knew this, but in his weak state he had grown desperate for some sign of reprieve.

He finally stood back, pushing himself off against the door to take a few steps away from the soldier. He felt nothing but shame for having looked to Arthur as a use to hide, but if it wasn't for Arthur would there have been that necessity at all?

"Alfred."

"Just go."

There was silence, as Alfred kept his gaze focused anywhere but near the soldier.

A lock unhinged and a door opened.

He was alone.

**A/N: WOW! So you guys learned some stuff about Berkley (still more I need to cover there), and I tied up some loose ends with Jessie, the doctor's daughter. Yey for Alfred no longer being tied to her! :D However, I never seem to give that boy a break. Now he has pnemonia.**

**As to Arthur, seems he has some important things to tell Alfred but when will he get the chance? He better not wait too long if the doctor's diagnosis is true.**

**Thank you all for your continued support in this story! I'd have never gotten this far without everyone's lovely reviews and comments through here, LJ and Tumblr. You guys are all the best!**

**In case anyone is going to Megacon 2012 in Orlando, FL (Feb. 17-19, 2012), I will be attending in Artist Alley at table Orange 9. If you happen to be going, do stop by and say 'hi'! :D  
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><p><strong>Follow me on Tumblr for status updates for "Quartering Acts" and "Jacob's Ladder", as well as USUK fanart by me: <strong>_ahro. tumblr. com_


	14. Chapter 13

**Quartering Acts**

**By Ahro **

**Warning: Sexual situations, language and violence.**

**Chapter 13**

He felt like he was broken. A puppet that was simply being lead by an invisible master. The wind that stirred the dead leaves on the ground - he heard nothing. The shifting mass beneath him that was Hero - he felt nothing. The bright sun as it began its descent over the horizon - he saw nothing. Part of the soldier wished he was just being lead along. His decisions were not his own. He could blame someone else, but this wasn't the case.

_I made him like this. I stole away his trust. I took advantage of his kindness. But- was all of that worth it? Worth seeing him crumble in front of me? That light being dimmed that much sooner. Were his words in that cell truly that painful to me? Were they worth all of this?_

"Captain."

_He never rejected me. He still showed trust in me. He still wanted me._

"Captain Kirkland, sir."

_Is it so wrong for me to not want the same that Alfred wants? This war would never have to happen if people like him and his men gave up such foolish notions of independence. Alfred wants to be with me, as I want to be with him. Why can't he just acknowledge that its possible without this fighting?_

"Sir!"

_But now I'm playing mind games with him. Have I taken this too far? Will I kill him before his ailment takes him? Or is he dead already?_

Answers wouldn't come right now, as his train of thought was quickly halted upon almost losing his seat atop the massive black draught horse.

"WOAH- Easy there Hero!" Once Hero had all of his hooves planted firmly again, Arthur glared fiercely at the Ensign who was now positioned directly in front of him. His blue roan, standing his ground in front of Hero; the cause for the black horse's abrupt rearing. "Berkley! What's the meaning of this?"

"My apologies, sir, but I've been trying to get your attention for the past fifteen minutes." The man saluted as he walked his mount out from in front of the still irritated Hero.

"Oh- well, what is it then?"

The ensign took a moment to survey the area. They were both on a lone dirt road, just wide enough for a horse and buggy to move down, but with little leeway on either side. The path had grown old now though. Where carriages had once ground tracks into the road, now grass and weeds had begun to retake the pass once more. Spindly tree limbs began to reach into the path as well. If any rider were to carelessly head down this path, they might easily find themselves nursing a bruised head, among other things. With the path being as secluded as it was, they would not have to worry about being overheard.

Berkley cleared his throat, "My concern is with the rebels. Will you be continuing to assist them, sir?"

With a deep inhale, Arthur looked to the ensign, "No. Of what brief respect I had for their ideals, it will only lead them to their deaths. With your help, Berkley, we've done more for them than they could expect of any British soldier." He then looked back down the road they had yet to travel. A rabbit sprinted across the path. A hungry fox in hot pursuit. "From here on out, our obligations are to his Majesty."

With a 'walk on' to Hero, Arthur continued on to their destination in silence; Berkley quickly following after him.

Arthur had to admit that he had grown curious of the young ensign. After some time of being under Arthur's command, he realized he knew very little of the quiet soldier. Unlike the other soldier's who mingled together, drank, and told outlandish tales, Berkley remained a puzzle. He was a good soldier. Followed orders without question. Was there the moment he was needed. Reliable. Direct. Yet a mystery. Arthur had reviewed the man's records and it was all in order. Grew-up with his father, aunt, and uncle in Berkshire. After school, enlisted in the army with his father. His father had been shipped to America under the command of former General Dereks, until his son soon followed. Then stationed in New York before being re-assigned to General Dereks' regiment in Quincy.

_Now that I think of it. He's never once mentioned his father, nor have I seen him with him. If he was under Dereks' command, he should still be in Quincy. Or at least Boston by now._

"Captain Kirkland, might I speak freely?"

Arthur was growing tired of constantly being caught off guard. It certainly wouldn't look good if his men caught him daydreaming while muskets were being pointed at them from across an open field.

"Yes, Berkley."

The ensign moved his mount closer to the large draught horse. Even if they were in a rather secluded part of the forest, they couldn't let their guard down completely. "You mentioned you held a brief respect for their ideals, sir. If you don't mind my asking, but what was it that made you listen?"

This - was an interesting question. One that Arthur wasn't completely sure he knew how to answer. Thinking about any other British soldier he had met to this day, none seemed to believe the Americans had a right to argue liberty. The Americans should be thankful they were governed by such a giving Empire. That this land had been given to them under the good graces of his Majesty. That they had grown to be spoiled children, and now that the parent was reprimanding the child, they were simply throwing a temper tantrum that would be quickly squashed. Was this the truth of it? Were the Americans simply acting as spoiled children, or did they honestly have a right to call this land their own, and govern it as they saw fit. A new, independent country.

"What made me listen?"

A silent nod in reply.

"I- met a man. A man lost and in need of a direction to follow. That man found an ideal as his direction. He... he reminded me a lot like myself. Yet, his strength was not something I could challenge. He never lost his direction." He paused, "I did."

"Have you found your direction again, sir?"

Arthur could feel his heart sink. His direction. He had gone in a circle for his direction, which only meant if he continued he would simply do so again. Would happiness come back to him, only to fall away again to repeat the process?  
>All he could do- was follow it.<p>

"I believe I have."

* * *

><p><em>"General! He's innocent!" The crowd was roaring. Alfred's speech had done exactly what he wanted. A rallying cry to give his men cover. I had learned of his plans through Berkley only a few hours before. I would never have believed it could be true. One man, positioned clear across the park, in a second floor window, aim steadied on the single rope that would snap Alfred's neck if his accuracy was off by a fraction. Had Alfred not shown me his altered musket's improved range, it would have been impossible. I could only hope his chosen marksmen was just as good... to save Alfred's life.<br>_  
><em>It was then my feet touched on the main platform of the gallows. Seeing the crowd stretched out over the lawn, crying out their protest over Alfred's mistreatment as much as their own, it was frightening. The numbers were certainly there. They just needed the right leaders to bring them together. It made sense now why Alfred had been thrown into his leadership role. Not just because of his father, but the man himself knew what it took to achieve what many would believe impossible.<br>_  
><em>That's when I saw him.<br>_  
><em>Rounding the tall wooden pilings, that blond hair shown brightly against the contrasting dismal day, but those blue eyes... eyes that held the freedom of the skies in them, had turned gray.<br>_  
><em>I had only caught a glimpse of him as his attention was directed at the limp child in Dereks' arms. I knew what he was thinking. I knew he would see me any second now, but I had to still play my part. I had my own plans, just like he had his.<br>_  
><em>"You will stand down, Captain! I have spoken with the judge and he is favorable in his decision. These rebel's spirits need a bit of crushing."<br>_  
><em>Ugh- this bastard disgusted me. As much as I wanted to rush in and grab Micah while cutting Alfred down, I knew my choices were for the best.<br>_  
><em>"But sir, surely this will only cause more uprising!" Of course it would, but this idiot didn't believe there were men like Alfred out there who were capable enough to sustain an uprising with success. He was already foolish enough to disregard the outcry from the public just twenty yards away.<br>_  
><em>"Captain Kirkland!" He faced me now. The fat of his chin bouncing from the momentum as he turned. Spittle running down to get caught in its folds. I thought I would have lost it right then.<br>_  
><em>"Your merit is being tested, hear and now! You claim you were spying on the rebels in the forest, yet, you carried a pistol with the royal seal upon it. The barrel of that pistol was riffled, much in the same way this rebel had altered his own muskets. Do you deny that you have been consorting with the enemy?"<br>_  
><em>It was exactly as Alfred had warned me back when I saw him in the tent. Beaten and bloodied as he was, yet he was still coherent and cracking jokes. Of course men would rally behind him. He had such a naturally charismatic personality, that even while he kept himself locked away in his forge for four years, he never seemed to miss a beat with anyone. Was that why I was so taken by him so quickly? Beyond our similarities in our pasts?<br>_  
><em>"Since when am I suddenly on trial? You are not in a position to accuse me of such allegations!"<br>_  
><em>"I am putting myself in such a position, Captain!" There went the noose around Micah's neck. There went Alfred's belief and trust in me. "If you are innocent, Captain, than you will see this boy hang."<br>_  
><em>I swallowed the ever growing lump in my throat. I could feel Alfred's eyes on me now. Those now gray eyes, wide with confusion and disbelief. I knew what was to happen. I knew the final result in this. I had to stick it out. To play my part, just as Alfred had been playing his.<br>_  
><em>I took a step back.<br>_  
><em>"Smart man."<br>_  
><em>Then they fell.<em>

* * *

><p>"Captain Kirkland. Captain Kirkland, sir. I hate to wake you, but General Redford would like to see you in his office at 0100 hours." Berkley's voice was muffled coming from behind the closed door of the small bedroom. They were staying at an inn that had been sanctioned off for British officers. Arthur had only been asleep for three hours since they arrived and reported back to the General, yet it was just enough time for Arthur to be visited by the same reoccurring nightmare.<p>

_Ever since that day I've been plagued by that scene. I knew what the outcome would be. At least most of it, but is it guilt that is driving these dreams? After what Alfred put me through, giving me hope when he knew there wouldn't be any in the end. Was it so wrong of me to do what I did?  
><em>  
>Arthur rubbed at his temples as he sat up in bed. A glance at the clock signaled that he had two hours before his meeting. Two hours. He could chance that dream again to try for more sleep, or drink away his approaching headache. So long as he nursed a single pint he should be alright in front of the general.<p>

"Thank you, Berkley. Would you mind coming in here. I would like a word with you."

The door opened slowly as the young ensign entered. It was quiet on the landing and there was only faint whispers of conversation making its way up from the dining area below. Most of the soldiers had retired for the night, which would make what Arthur needed to say that much easier to address.

"What can I do for you, sir?"

Arthur rubbed at his eyes and stood to walk over to the wash basin by his bed. He motioned for the young soldier to take a seat as he reached into the clean water to splash on his face. Perhaps the cold would shake some of the uneasy feelings he was having from the dream away. He could only hope for anything at this point.

As he reached for a towel to dry his face, Arthur finally addressed the soldier.

"I understand I asked you to report to me in the morning, but since I'm up now I could use that report."

Berkley nodded from his seat, moving to stand to be more formal before being waved to sit back down by Arthur. After he was settled again, the ensign started, "Micah is safe."

Just hearing the name out loud seemed to help Arthur's nerves immensely. Berkley must have noticed this as he stopped quickly to mention his concern.

"I'm fine. Carry on."

He nodded. "He is with his mother in a safe location outside of the city. Its well secluded, and they are being cared for by a local farmer who lives not far from their current location."

"This farmer is trustworthy?"

"So long as I keep coin in his pocket, sir."

Arthur didn't care for the idea of trusting anyone who could be hired so easily with coin. Perhaps a visit would be in order.

"What of the boy? How is he?"

"He's thankful for your help, sir. He complains of the soreness around his neck still, but the collar and harness did its job in protecting him. His apologies have no end, sir. Perhaps if you could visit him it would help put his mind at ease. Also, he-" Berkley paused as he seemed to struggle with his words.

"What is it?"

Berkley looked to the table next to him, "He asks of Alfred. If he's alright, and if you're still friends with him. I'm afraid I was not much help in giving him any straight answers there, sir."

Arthur sighed as he moved away from the middle of the room to look out a window. Street lamps had been lit as soldiers patrolled the streets. There were not many citizens about at this time as one would be immediately interrogated under suspicions of working with the rebels. The prisons would begin filling up with innocents who were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Much like Micah was.

_"I TRUSTED YOU!"_

_I was covered in Dereks' blood. No one had seen me shoot him amidst the chaos. Neither had Alfred.  
><em>  
><em>"YOU WERE MEANT TO SAVE HIM!"<br>_  
><em>I had seen Berkley coming to release the rope around Micah's neck. The wooden collar and harness that Berkley had secretly put on him under his clothing had not been noticed by Dereks, and it saved the boy. Alfred would never have known.<br>_  
><em>"HE WAS MY BROTHER!"<br>_  
><em>Alfred would torture himself now over Micah's supposed death. Blame himself. Blame me. What I did was right, though. Alfred was a fool to follow in this rebellion.<br>_  
><em>"WHY, ARTHUR?"<br>_  
><em>I did it for the best. Alfred would see that now. Once I reveal that I saved Micah as I promised, Alfred would forgive me.<br>_  
><em>"ARTHUR!"<br>_  
><em>Wouldn't he?<br>_  
>"Captain Kirkland! Sir, are you alright?" Berkley's frantic voice yet calm touch was behind Arthur has he began to come to. He must have begun to zone out and collapsed at the window. His head throbbed even worse now as his hand went up to inspect the already forming bump.<p>

"I-I am sorry, Berkley. It... it must be from a lack of sleep is all." Arthur then began to get to his feet as he waved the ensign away. Thankfully, the man knew to keep his voice relatively low in his distress as no one came to check up on the commotion.

"Perhaps you should rest. I can inform the General that you will see him in the morning."

"No." Arthur quickly reached out to grab hold of Berkley's arm to stop him. "No- that will not be necessary. I- I think I might go down to the pub for a quick drink just to rid this headache and I will be fine. Thank you for your help, Berkley."

The ensign nodded as he went for the door, turning with a final salute. "It is an honor serving you."

The door finally closed, leaving Arthur alone with his thoughts once more. Probably not the best thing to be left with for long, so he quickly picked up his coat, checked himself over in the mirror, and headed out to find himself a much needed drink.

* * *

><p>The pub was quiet, much to Arthur's delight, as he made his way to the bar. Besides the barkeep, there was only one other soldier there, and he was out like a light. His head was cradled in his arms on top of the bar where he had passed out. An empty mug sat on its side against his arm.<p>

Ignoring the other man, Alfred took up a seat farthest from the drunk. His stomach rumbled some, but the kitchens would no longer be serving at this hour, and Arthur was not one to use his station to bully around these citizens more than they already had been. As much as he hated seeing these people mistreated, it was for the better that their rebellious spirits were eliminated before more innocents died.

"What'll ya have, Captain?" The barkeep's accent was thick, and Arthur cursed himself for letting his thoughts quickly lead to Alfred.

"Just a pint, thank you."

The barkeep nodded and poured a frothing mug of the house's finest beer.

"What brings ya round here at this hour?" The man seemed rather skeptical of asking, but Arthur obliged. Perhaps he needed a little useless small talk to ease his nerves.

"Just needed a little extra courage before a meeting with the general."

"A meetin' this late? Well- I'll just keep them commin' as I expect you'll be needin' it." The barkeep let out a deep laugh as he went back to wiping down the bar and additional mugs.

Arthur remained quiet as he slowly nursed his drink. He had no worries about meeting with Redford. Unlike his former counterpart, Redford was far more respectable. The kind of man Arthur had expected to see leading troops in the colonies. Dereks was a joke, and Arthur wouldn't have been surprised if Redford himself was pleased the man was dead. Of course, no one would ever know Arthur was the one who placed the ball between his eyes.

"Lookie here. Fancy seein' a young British captain out havin' a drink at this hour."

Arthur never even noticed the drunk from down the end of the bar had found his way over to him. The barkeep's laugh must have woken the man. Certainly not what Arthur wanted to deal with right now.

"Yes. I have business to attend to soon."

"Ahh- best drown yerself now in some good ol' spirits before confrontin' the man."

"Yes." Arthur paused then as he looked away from his mug to the man next to him. It took only a second for his eyes to widen at the sight of the colonel insignia on the man's shoulder. He was at attention before the colonel knew Arthur was standing.

"My apologies, sir, I was unaware you were a colonel, sir." Arthur saluted.

The colonel laughed as he waved off Arthur's salute. "Relax there, Captain Kirkland. You're off duty as much as I am right now. Y'all have a drink on me!" He said with a laugh as he included the barkeep in on the offer.

"Ahh- thank you, sir." Arthur took his seat again, as now his mind was wrapped around this colonel's accent. It was distinctly from the southern colonies. That would make this man a loyalist. How had a loyalist achieved the rank of colonel in the British army though? If someone had the coin they could certainly buy their position, but regardless, for a loyalist the price would have been outlandishly high. No one in the colonies earned that amount. Unless the man had proven his loyalty so beyond that of coin he was given the position. Maybe a political choice to persuade other colonists to join arms against the rebels?

The colonel let out another loud laugh, "I must have spooked ya with the accent. Y'all have acted the same way around me since I arrived here in the north. Next, you'll be wonderin' what an American loyalist is doing as a colonel of the British army."

Arthur was shocked, and quickly began to wonder if he had spoken his thoughts aloud.

"Oh- no, sir. Forgive me if I may have appeared that way. I feel the more men we have on our side the better. I would rather see this feud end without anymore bloodshed."

The man suddenly turned serious as he looked away from Arthur to pier into his freshly filled pint. "I have seen much of the colonies durin' my service. I've been up and down this coast many times, as well as on your own shores. The spirit of these people is unmatched by any others I have seen before. I'm afraid this war will turn ugly before long." He took a heavy swig from his mug, almost ridding it of its contents in one go.

Arthur contemplated his own drink, Alfred's words of defiance against the British returning to him. "So you don't believe the colonists will give up?"

The man shook his head.

"This land is wild and untamed. Its people have grown to be fierce in order to tame the land they've staked their homes on. Not to be rude, but your people have become soft. Your leaders have grown to enjoy too many comforts as they wage wars from behind desks. The British Empire is great, but its been great for too long. Unless changes are made, the Crown will be facing a challenging reality very soon right in the heart of their economic strong hold." The colonel explained, as he stamped his foot to drive home the visual.

Arthur didn't add anything else so the man continued, "Its why I asked to be transferred up here. This rebellion will soon escalate, and I wanted to see my son once more before I lost the chance to do so."

This made Arthur turn in his seat. "You have a son here?"

"I do. You actually know him, Captain. He's under your command."

Arthur eyed the man suspiciously as he then began to take in the man's black hair, familiar square jaw, and brown eyes.

_Could this man be...?_

Arthur's silence pushed the colonel to answer his unspoken question. "I'm Colonel Samuel Berkley. John Berkley's father."

Arthur practically spilled the remains of his beer onto himself as he stood up from his seat.

"You're Berkley's father?" His voice carried accidentally, and Arthur winced as he tried to pull himself back together.

"That'd be me. I take it he's been a good help to ya up here?"

"Ahh- yes, he's a fine soldier." Arthur's mind was then quickly not on the conversation, but analyzing his time with the ensign.

_His father is an American loyalist. That makes Berkley's history a lie. Why would he have forged his past and faked a British accent? Especially if his father is a known loyalist in the British army. Yet, Dereks seemed to know Berkley well. He had said he was under Dereks' regiment in London. Something isn't right.  
><em>  
>The colonel must have noticed how Arthur immediately withdrew into himself with this latest news as he then stood and placed a hand on the captain's shoulder, pulling him from his musings.<p>

"Would you mind goin' for a short ride with me, Captain? I could use some fresh air after all of this good drink." He smiled down at Arthur as he placed what he owed and then some on the bar. Easily covering Arthur's own drink with it.

Arthur's head was filled with questions that he needed to confront the ensign over, but he also couldn't say no to an order from a superior officer.

With a nod, Arthur then followed the colonel out to the road. He would need to be on guard while they rode.

* * *

><p>They both had mounted in silence and took off on a road south out of the city. The pub had been on the outskirts of Boston which made it easier to leave without raising too much suspicion.<p>

_That extra coin he left for the bartender was for his silence. Something isn't right._

"Its been a long time since I've seen that beast."

"Pardon?"

Arthur looked over at the colonel who rode a dappled gray mare. He motioned with his head to Hero, who stood a few hands higher than the colonel's own horse.

"You're familiar with this horse, sir?"

The man laughed, "While you were still in the pub, I was reachin' for my mares reigns and he nearly bit my hand off."

"Oh- I'm terribly sorry, sir! I knew he was rather aggressive but I did not think-"

"No worries, Captain. Its a rare thing to see a plow horse that's aggressive. Only reason why I knew it was Hero."

This caused Arthur to pull Hero to a stop as the colonel continued on a few feet before noticing he had left his companion behind.

_He knows Alfred's horse by name? What is his connection with Alfred now, and with that, what about his son?_

"I did not realize Hero was so talked about amongst the soldiers." Arthur needed to watch what he said now. This man could very well be baiting him into releasing information he had gone to great lengths in keeping quiet. He wasn't sure of how this man's relations with his son still were. Berkley seemed to be on Arthur's side, but did that mean he could trust the ensign's father? Or was Berkley working for his father the whole time, and Arthur really had no one to trust.

_No, I do have one man I can still trust._

The colonel rounded his horse back to face Arthur. They'd made it a ways into the woods now, and with only the dim light of the moon pushing through the thick tree limbs above them, they would continue to go unnoticed. Arthur would need to make quite a scene in order to gain outside help if things were to go bad. Hero could run fast, but he was bulkier than the colonel's mare and not built for speed.

Once the colonel neared, his voice took on a whole new level of deception. The southern twang was gone, yet he did not have the familiar Boston accent he had grown so familiar with. If anything, it seemed plain. Obviously American still, but without any unique characterizations of his words. Listening to him now, Arthur couldn't place where in the colonies he would have been from.

"My son tells me you assisted in the rebel, Alfred Jones', escape. You also shot General Dereks."

The abrupt accusation quickly threw Arthur off far more than the man's sudden change in accent. As well as the first words that came to his own mind being that of the truth. Should he come out that easily and accept the colonel's accusation of him? If he had ties to Berkley, than the colonel had proof that he had aided the rebels. Of course- just as much as his son had as well. However, had they really gone that far to lure me into a false sense of security in order to capture these men? They had lost a British general in their scheme. Or was this colonel looking to take that position for himself, and needed Dereks out of the way. Surely, his son would have told his father about Arthur's hatred of the obese general. What better opportunity than have an unsuspecting captain do your own dirty work.

Arthur straightened up in his saddle as the colonel waited patiently for an answer. Whatever the case may be, Arthur was not going to be frightened.

"If you knew that than you wouldn't have taken me out here to accuse me of it. What is it that you want?"

Even in the dim light, Arthur could see the smile that played across the colonel's face.

"Then tell me why, a Captain of the Royal British Army, who has made it pointedly clear you do not wish for the Americans Independence, has gone to such lengths to do just that."

This was interesting. Here the colonel was facing a traitor to the Crown, as he basically was claiming, but wanted to know what Arthur's reasoning behind it all was.

Arthur remained silent so the colonel continued, "Saving a young colonial boy's life, killing a British General, helping return muskets that can be fired from 300 yards out. To me, that sounds like you're far more interested in helping them then dissuading them."

Arthur lifted his head at the indignation the man bared for him. Of course putting it like that made it sound like he was helping the Americans cause, but it was more than that.

"Micah was innocent, and I hated that pig of a general. Those muskets will not throw the tides of battle. They can be only fired once before they need extensive cleaning to be reloaded. They're useless after one shot."

"From 300 yards away you only need one shot. Hidden amongst the trees, aiming for an officer astride his horse. Clear, open shot through the chest, sending confusion amongst the soldiers. With no one to lead them, they become like pigs out to slaughter."

Arthur shifted uneasily in his saddle, "How is it you know so much?"

He let out a boisterous laugh, much like the one he had made back in the pub. He seemed far from concerned whether anyone heard him.

"I was a close friend to that old fool who crafted that first rifled musket. Just like you're a friend of his son." He smiled.

_What?_

"Who are you?"

"I am Colonel Samuel Berkley of the British Royal Army." He saluted. "Former citizen of the good town of Quincy, Massachusetts. Later, of Yorktown, Virginia, and last of Berkshire, England. I'm sure you're familiar with the latter. Especially as its in my son's records that that is where he is from. Part of it is true. Before all of that though, he was an American living in Quincy, just down the road from Jones' Blacksmithing."

"So you are saying you were friends of Alfred's father? That your son was in turn friends with Alfred himself?"

"We were friends alright. However, I can't say my son stopped at being just friends with Alfred though." The colonel looked away at this. Pain seemed to strike across his features at past memories.

"What do you mean... more than friends?"

The colonel smirked and scratched his nose, "That boy captured my son's heart... much in the same way he seems to have caught yours."

It happened without Arthur even knowing he had done it. In his hand was his pistol, aimed threateningly at the colonel's head. Once he realized what he was doing he didn't even care.

"You may be a senior officer, but where do you have the suspicions that I would be sinfully in love with another man? A rebel at that!"

The colonel smirked. The threat of the weapon seeming invisible to him.

"I felt the same towards my son. I took him away from Alfred. Moved to the south so he would forget about the boy. He never did. He pretended like he had, but he was never the same. He had grown to be some lifeless doll. Doing nothing but taking orders. I have relatives back in England, and we were contacted to return. We did, and while there we both enlisted in the Army. I felt if he was to live his life in such a manner than he would make for a good soldier. I was right in that. When we returned to the colonies, strife was beginning to brew and I first returned to Quincy to see Alfred's father. That's when I learned of all the terrible things the colonists were going through, and I vowed to him that I would be his inside ear." The colonel paused and heaved a sigh. "The day he sacrificed himself at the Boston Massacre was the hardest day of my life."

"So, you mean to say that Berkley, your son, was the young boy Alfred had been in love with?" The pistol in his hand began to lower.

He nodded as his gaze drifted to look south down the road they had yet to travel. A road that would lead them both back to this man's hometown, "I've seen a lot of fighting in my day, and I've begun to realize just how precious and rare it is to find a sliver of hope in this world. Time is short now, and I've grown to hate myself for having pulled my son away from the man who had made him happy all those years ago." He then looked back to Arthur. "My son, John, now only cares about seeing a peaceful world. His heart now belongs to that ideal. With that ideal comes great sacrifice, just like the sacrifice you have made."

Arthur could feel the anger at the man's words billow up within him, as he looked down at the pistol in his hand.

"A sacrifice for a selfish reason."

_You let him drown._

"We're all born as fools, Arthur Kirkland. Its time you realize that, and make the right choices." The colonel lightly kicked his mount forward as he began to continue south once more.

"B-but, Colonel- What should I do?"

The man looked back over his shoulder at him, "Make this war right boy. Live for that sliver of hope."

Arthur's thoughts were wild, but this man seemed to have helped in grounding some of those thoughts. What would he do though if he needed more help in the future.

"Wait- where can I find you if I need your help?"

There was a silence for a moment as the colonel halted his mare for a moment before turning, "You can find me at a grave site." and with those final words, the man kicked his mare and sent her galloping off to the south, leaving behind Arthur in his wake.

_Could Alfred be right in all of this? Was it possible for the Americans to gain their freedom, even at the might of the British Army? Alfred had won my own judgement early on in all of this. I was ready to fight with him, then things changed, and I was forced to see just how devoted Alfred was to his cause. If he could change me, other men would rally beside him just as easily. He has a small force, but they've proven successful. Has their success already been whispered amidst the colonists behind closed doors? How soon until I will be shot off my horse by one of his muskets?  
><em>  
>"A sliver of hope." Arthur looked at his hand where he still clutched his pistol. Did he want to aim that same gun at his sliver of hope? He had been selfish once, and he lost not just his younger brother, but his mother as well. The one who he wanted to be loved by the most. Now, was he going to let his selfishness do this again? Bring him back to the miserable state he arrived in Boston as. Was he better off fighting next to Alfred, or helping him in secret from the British side?<p>

_Regardless of my choice, Alfred won't be swayed away from his ideals. If I am to make this war right, and hold onto that hope, I will need to help him.  
><em>  
>"I have to go see him."<p>

"Captain!"

Arthur quickly turned in his saddle to see the familiar blue roan galloping towards him, the familiar young ensign astride its back.

_Berkley._

"Captain Kirkland, sir." He rained in his mare quickly as he neared, holding out a sealed letter to Arthur as he did. "I've just left from General Redford's office. He has been suddenly called on to report to Philadelphia. He apologies for not being able to speak with you at the originally appointed time but he has written down his orders to you there." He motioned to the letter now in Arthur's hands.

"Philadelphia. Must have something to do with the Continental Congress." Arthur quickly unsealed the letter and began to look over it.

His heart felt like it had been crushed.

"Captain?"

Arthur tried to swallow the growing lump in his throat, "General Redford-" He began, his hand beginning to shake while he held the letter. "Is sending regiments of soldiers to fan out through the towns and forests north, west, and south of Boston to pick off any rebels they come across. Namely, Alfred and his men."

"What did he ask you to do?"

Arthur shook his head as the letter was quickly crumpled up in his hand. He would need to act, and act now. There was no time to spare.

"He's commanded me to lead one of the regiments."

Berkley caught Arthur's gaze immediately. It was a silent understanding between the both of them. Berkley knew he would have to cover for Arthur. He had to go now or his window of opportunity would be lost.

"Go to him, Captain. He needs you, but you need to fight for him from this side."

"Just as much as you have done for him all of these years."

Berkley was silent for a moment. Arthur could see the knowing look in his eyes. Arthur had finally spoken with his father. Everything was out in the open now.

"I'm sorry for having deceived you, Captain Kirkland."

Arthur shook his head.

"You've played your part well, and you've stuck by me faithfully. I understand your feelings, and what you hope to see achieved. Now its my turn to help you as much as it is to help Alfred."

Berkley nodded and a faint smile flickered across his face before he sat erect with a salute.

"I'm thankful, sir, that Alfred has finally found someone in this life that is truly worth fighting for." He dropped his false British accent with his last words, bringing out the same one that his father had used not long ago.

Arthur smiled and patted the ensign on the shoulder.

"Thank you, John. You have truly opened my eyes to see exactly what Americans are made of."

The ensign laughed. "We won't be made of anything unless you go warn those men."

"Right then." With a final nod, the two men split. One heading back to the city. One heading off to the forest.

_This game is over. Alfred will know everything now. I can't hold anything back, for it might be the last time I ever see him again._

**A/N:**  
><strong>Finally! Chapter 13! Its taken quite a while for me to get this to you and that's due to Megacon back in February. After the show I had so many commissions that I was overwhelmed (not complaining mind you; just lack of time). Trying to work on those around my job and internship was brutal so sadly my fanfics had to be put to the side.<strong>

**Beyond that, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Plots are set in motion now. I'm sorry for the lack of direct interactions between Al and Art. Unfortunately, they're on opposite sides so its been hard getting them together. However, Art is rushing to see Al. The next chapter could be one you've all been waiting for. ;)**

**Thank you all again soooo so much for your continued support in "Quartering Acts", as well as my newer fic, "Jacob's Ladder". Your feedback has been a great help in keeping these fics alive. As always any concrit you feel like leaving never goes to waste. I've already been back through QA numerous times and I've added some more exposition and dialogue to early chapters in case you care to reread (nothing plot related so it won't hurt you if you don't). I hope the edits make the story a bit easier to read/follow.**

**Thank you again, and I'd love to hear your thoughts on the way out! Any speculations you might have is always fun to read, and helps me out with the flow of the story and what I've revealed or withheld if done correctly or not. :)**  
><strong>See you again in Chapter 14!<strong>

* * *

><p>Follow me on tumblr for status updates for "Quartering Acts" as well as "Jacob's Ladder": <em>ahro. tumblr. com<em>


	15. Chapter 14

**Quartering Acts **

**By Ahro **

**Warning: EXPLICIT sexual content, language and violence.**

**Chapter 14**

Hero's breathing had grown labored as Arthur pushed the massive draught horse through the thick of the forest. His large gait just barely managing to weave past the large oaks, maples, and pines. Dead leaves and branches were trampled under hoof leaving no room to guess as to what crashed through the trees. Arthur's only path to follow was that of a single river that ran not far from the rebels camp. Berkley had lead him along it before, and it was the only way to find the abandoned building. If only orders had not been to sweep straight through the forests they would have gone unnoticed for a long time. That would not be the case though, and Arthur would make sure the soldiers would still only find an abandoned building.

_"So long as they listen. Don't act a fool, Alfred."_

It was still before midnight. There was plenty of time to warn them, but if it took time to persuade them, it would be another show entirely. The returned muskets had garnered Arthur some appreciation, however, he had left Alfred in a very unfit place. He wasn't healthy to begin with, and the additional stress brought on by having to believe Micah was killed would not help him improve.

_"I have to tell him. He has to know. Time is short for us now. I can not let him disappear without knowing the truth."_

It wasn't much longer though before the familiar scent of a pit fire wafted through the air. The faintest flicker of a fire amidst trees and overgrowth signaled his destination. He could breath somewhat easier now as he brought Hero to a slower pace. There would be perimeter scouts, and he couldn't afford to waste precious time explaining his reason for being here. It was difficult enough to expect them to not shoot him on sight. His blazing red uniform was only asking for it.

As if Arthur had called out to them himself, two rebel soldiers walked their horses out from behind a massive stone outcropping, muskets shouldered and aimed right for Arthur's heart.

"Ain'tcha out a little late fo' a ride theyah, Brit?" A stockier one by the looks of his arms in the dim light, spoke first. A wicked grin cutting across his face revealing missing teeth, while a rotten looking cigar was chewed from the side of his mouth as he spoke.

"W-wait, isn't that the horse Alfred mentioned? The black draft horse."

"It's dahk, everythin's black tah me."

"Yes, but it's massive. Put the damn musket down."

Arthur watched as a thinner man came around from behind the first, and reached over to push the barrel of the musket down.

"The fuck, Will! Ya can't just let 'em walk into camp! He's still a fuckin' redcoat!"

"Then I'll escort him. Stay here and watch the perimeter."

The man grumbled his displeasure in the idea, but reluctantly obliged, moving his mount back to their original position. The other man sighed, running a hand through his hair as he trotted his own horse to close in next to Arthur.

"I take it you are Captain Arthur Kirkland, correct?"

Arthur nodded, "Yes, and thank you for taking care of that."

The man gestured his hand forward to continue on as he spoke, "Heh- the minute Alfred's name is brought up, any of the men would back down in a heartbeat. No one wants to anger him."

Arthur couldn't help be surprised by this, "His health is improving then?"

The man shook his head, "Afraid not, but he certainly doesn't let on that he is ill. He's found a way to control his coughing. Only does so when he knows his men aren't around." The man paused a moment. Adjusting himself in the saddle as they neared the camp before he finally found the words to continue. "He's strong, but he wants his men to be stronger. It's certainly something all of the men admire in him. Even more so that they would lay their lives down for him."

Arthur stopped Hero for a moment at the man's last words, making the latter have to stop and turn unexpectedly.

"I thought these men were fighting for their independence from Great Britain."

"Oh- we still are, sir, but it doesn't feel like we'd be fighting for our independence if we didn't fight for Alfred as well."

Arthur tried to grasp the idea. Alfred was their leader in all of this. He had been pulling them all through against extreme odds. Rallying more men to his side by sacrificing his life even. He had become a force all his own, even through his physical, and assuredly mental (thanks in part to Arthur) limitations. How Alfred could push so far without breaking was certainly something to protect, and that's what these men saw.

"Oh- dear, my apologies, sir, you wouldn't be out here this late if you didn't have urgent business to address. Alfred and the doctor should be in the war room." The man moved his horse into a brisk canter to lead off through the trees to the old home that steadily grew nearer.

_A war room. If I didn't know Alfred was serious in all of this, I would have to give it to him for his theatrics. A well organized militia. That's certainly something to be proud of._

Arthur came up behind the young man he spoke with earlier, who was now engaged animatedly with two guards who stood stationed at the entrance of the old building. They shot Arthur a glare as he neared, then looked to Hero. There was no mistaking the large horse, while Arthur's face looked just like any other to them. If they managed to see past the red uniform at least.

Arthur dismounted then as the young man from earlier walked back towards him.

"You must disarm before they allow you in, orders from Dr. Shannon."

He knew it was out of protocol, but agreed none the less. He didn't have time to argue when he knew he was in no danger from these men, so long as Alfred was in charge.

With his person removed of his musket, pistol, and sword, he was allowed entrance into the tiny dwelling. A good-bye salute was given from the young man at the door as Arthur entered. Once his eyes had adjusted to the dim lantern light, Arthur finally found, at least one man he had been looking for.

Doctor Shannon, who Alfred must have named his second in command, stood over a large pile of medical supplies in the corner. He was currently working on something as he held a mortar and pestle in his hands, steadily grinding down whatever herbs he had mixed inside. He must have been alerted ahead of time as he turned and held little surprise to his expression upon seeing the British captain.

"You surprise me, Captain, I didn't expect you to return." His smile was calming. One he must have used frequently with his patients. One that was practiced all too often. Now, it was aimed at Arthur, and it unnerved him.

"Where is Alfred?"

The doctor swirled the contents of his mortar around before placing it back along side his other materials, "So you _had_ planned on returning after all."

The statement confused him, "Urgent matters required me to return. Now, where is Alfred?"

"Matters... regarding your soldiers sweeping the forests and towns for us?" Arthur's eyes widened. "We know."

"What?"

"We have our own connections."

"T-then why are you still here?"

The doctor shrugged, "Alfred's orders."

"That is a death sentence."

The doctor smiled, "Alfred has faith in his men, as do I."

"You are all even more foolish than I thought."

A laugh, "Isn't anyone who fights for a dream foolish? You have a dream."

"Ha- one that I'm not following."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Of course."

"Than why are you here?"

Arthur had a response ready, but not for that question as he fell over his words, "Ahh, w-what do you mean? I came here to warn you of the sweep, nothing more. Had I known you already knew I would not have wasted my time."

"And what of Alfred?"

"What of him?"

"You need to see him."

Arthur scoffed, "I need nothing of the sort. I have nothing more to say. Good evening, sir." He then turned on his heel to head for the door, only stopping momentarily when he heard the doctor clear his throat.

"He's out at the barn overseeing training. Thought you might want to know."

Arthur shot the man a glare, but he had turned his back to him, his attention on his mortar once again. Arthur wasn't sure what the man knew, but as he walked outside past the guards and remounted Hero, he found himself turning away from the direction he had come from. Once Hero moved past the building, Arthur swore he saw out of the corner of his eye a figure move away from a window, and only that hauntingly calm smile lingered in Arthur's mind.

* * *

><p>The sounds of musket fire filtered towards him as he neared the large barn. Lanterns were scattered about the area while a few pit fires roared with additional light. Arthur was surprised by the boldness of these men. To be firing muskets and have fires lit at night. It was as if they were asking the British to come and find them.<p>

As he approached, much like before, a man came out on horse back to attend to him. He had been given his weapons back, but rather than accosted as before, he was merely escorted to the entrance of the barn. Words were exchanged with a salute to an older gentleman who seemed to be currently in charge of what Arthur felt was training. After a nod of dismissal, the men cleared out and Arthur was left alone with the man overseeing the operation. Again, it seemed, Alfred was missing.

"You must be Captain Kirkland of the British Royal Army, I've heard a lot of good things about you, young man."

"It seems I am well known around here. You have caught me at a slight disadvantage, sir..."

The man laughed, "My name is of little importance, Captain. You are after all the reason we still have a fighting chance." The man motioned to the bronze muskets being used amidst the militiamen.

From what Arthur could tell, there were three stations with targets. Each man started at the closest range of 100 yards and slowly moved out further to the maximum of 300.

"Marksmen, Captain. They will be our key in fighting this war."

_A new term for a new kind of soldier. This world is truly evolving. _"Your men have grown quite skilled from their humble beginnings as farmers and craftsmen. Is this truly wise to be showing me your battle tactics?"

A wide smile lit the older man's wrinkled face as he looked out over the men training, "Trust is not something Mr. Jones gives easily. One learns to respect that quality."

Arthur darted a look up at the man, "He trusts me?"

"Have you given him reason not to?"

Arthur's gaze drifted back to look at the men, "I thought I had."

"Well, lad, whatever it was he must have deemed it of little importance."

Arthur shook his head slightly, "I doubt it is of little importance to him."

"Sorry, sir?"

"Nothing at all. Ahh- well, might you know where Alfred is? I have means to speak with him."

"Right, my apologies, Captain, I'm afraid you missed him. He had been complaining of a headache and was in need of fresh air. More specifically salt air. You should find him due southeast from here, along the coast. Poor lad, dreams of the sea he does. I pray he makes it out of this war, and can man his own ship out in those waters he loves so much."

Arthur nodded as he climbed back atop Hero. "As do I, sir." With a nod of his head to the elderly man, and a salute given in return, Arthur turned Hero around and began to head off in the direction, Arthur hoped, would finally lead him to Alfred.

* * *

><p>The familiar scent of salt finally reached Arthur's nose as gusts of wind off the water kicked up the surf along the shoreline. It had taken him almost an hour to reach the coast, following the same river that had brought him to the rebel camp, it's mouth opening up into Boston harbour. In the past half hour, a storm had also begun to brew to the east as he closed in on his destination. The sky having been steadily darkened even further as the moon and stars were blotted out by the massive dark shapes of rain laden clouds. Now his path was only lit by the increasing number of lighting strikes, the currents of electricity dancing high above his head.<p>

_This is ridiculous. His men refuse to leave on Alfred's orders. So why should I risk my life with this storm fast approaching to try and talk some sense into him. He certainly has not heeded my council before, why should he now?_

As if to answer him, a loud crack of thunder struck above him, causing Hero to bellow in surprise and surge forward through the trees out into the thick dunes along the beach.

"Woah, there now, Hero! Nothing but a bit of thunder. You have been around far worse than this now. Hush." His words seem to calm the horse some as he came to a stop atop one of the dunes. A clear view of the harbour now stretching out before them, and with that, no clear sign of Alfred.

"Dammit, all! Where the bloody hell has that man gone off to?" It would be almost impossible to spot the man in the dark, but just as Arthur was about to end it all, and perhaps go back to the camp and wait for him (because he was a bleeding sod), a flash of lightening lit up the sand and obvious hoof prints came into view.

"Now that will be helpful." Having spotted them now, following the shadowed depressions would certainly lead him to the elusive blacksmith.

The prints traveled less than a hundred yards down the beach before they turned, and much to Arthur's agitation, disappeared into the water.

"No. That bastard erased his trail. Just when I thought I finally had him." His gaze lifted then to look out over the water. White caps churned along the water as the wind pushed across it in heavy gusts. Spray leaping off the water to coat the air as it did. The distant crashing of waves further out just happened to catch his attention, right as another strike of lightning lit up the area, brightening the wet stones of a looming jetty.

Arthur blanched at the sight.

_"Big brother!"_

"No, dammit."

_"My foot is stuck in the rocks! I need help!"_

"Please, no..."

_"The water's rising, brother, hurry!"_

"Not now."

_"Brother!"_

"No."

_"Arthur!"_

"NO!"

The sand came rushing up to meet him as he fell from the saddle. His stomach emptying almost immediately as he tried to brace himself on his hands and knees. The visions of his brother, his leg trapped in the stones of the jetty they had been playing on. Their mother had told them not to, but Arthur wanted to venture out to the end. His younger brother had slipped down the side, and had lodged his ankle in the rocks. Arthur couldn't reach him. Then he noticed how close the water was, and exactly how high it would eventually get. He had pretended to run for their mother. He had always pretended to love his brother.

Dry heaves now wracked his body as he shook in the sand. His arms and legs growing weak as they tried to support his quivering form from the exertion of vomiting. His face had become wet with tears, but Arthur wasn't sure if they were due to the nausea, or of his own grief.

"Dammit... why did I let him drown. I killed him, because I was nothing more than a selfish fool. I hated him, but he did nothing to warrant what I did to him. Nothing!"

"Just like Micah did nothing."

Arthur gasped, spinning around to look up at a tall, mounted figure that now loomed behind him. Even in the dark light, those familiar blue eyes shown brightly behind his glasses. A glare, piercing down at him along the barrel of an aimed musket.

It was too soon to speak of Micah. Alfred wasn't ready to kill Arthur yet, either, as Arthur would have been dead already. There was still time.

Arthur wiped at his mouth with the back of his sleeve, bringing his gaze to the treeline, and away from the threatening weapon, "A little far to go scouting."

"Only as far as I needed 'till I found the enemy."

"And have you?"

"All I see is red. You tell me."

Arthur wobbled to his feet, trying to find some shred of dignity in the face of a loaded barrel. Alfred had found his way out of the saddle, the musket still aimed and ready. Rain had begun to lightly fall, as the lightning now lit up the area at regular intervals. As the light kissed the gleaming metal in Alfred's hands, Arthur then noted, that Alfred's musket was not bronze like the rest, but made of iron.

_His father's musket._

Arthur shifted his weight as he looked down to straighten his uniform self-consciously, "So, if you found a woman in a red dress-" he paused, looking back up at the armed smith, "-you would shoot her?"

The butt of the musket came up quickly, striking Arthur in the jaw hard. He had expected no less with his remark, as he spun and landed hard in the wet sand again. Arthur groaned as he tried to right himself but Alfred had already stepped over him, turning him over onto his back with his foot, and bringing the razor sharp bayonet threateningly close to Arthur's neck.

"Who said I would shoot?" He pressed the cool blade almost tenderly against Arthur's throbbing pulse. If it hadn't been raining, Arthur would have been soaked with his own sweat. "Perhaps I would interrogate her. Find out why she'd be out on a beach so far from any town, as well as which general she was married to. Certainly no American could afford such a luxury."

Alfred's words settled between them; thick with loathing and disgust. Arthur couldn't very well disagree with the smith's feelings. He had, after all forced Alfred to this point through his deception, all in an attempt to throw back the pain Arthur had been feeling from Alfred's constant rejection and withheld secrets. Alfred had played Arthur along in his plans for his revolution. Arthur had just chosen his own bold move, but the boy still lived in the end. At this point, however, Arthur was beyond hoping for Alfred to take him back, but he had to let Alfred know the truth.

It still didn't mean he was going to be nice, "They could, if fools like you threw down your weapons."

Alfred seethed, "Let us sit representatives in your Parliament, and perhaps we will."

"You know I can not answer that."

The bayonet then pressed firmer against Arthur's neck as Alfred's rage flared.

"Than you have your answer!"

A loud crack of thunder filled the air, causing Alfred's skittish horse to whinny anxiously at the danger they were still under. The rain had now begun to pick up in intensity, while Arthur began to notice the blade against his skin had begun to shake. Was Alfred losing his grip? No. He was holding back. His will was failing him. Arthur could still reach him.

"That musket-" he started, "Its not one of the ones you made."

Alfred remained silent. His features composed, yet the slight tremor through the blade was enough for Arthur to know he could continue.

"This is your father's musket. The first rifled musket of its kind." Arthur paused again, thinking about the etching he had seen that first time in the smith's forge. That phrase that signaled to him that Alfred was a rebel. His enemy. "_'For Liberty' _is engraved in the barrel, correct?" Arthur knew he was right, but Alfred continued to say nothing. "Liberty means my death. The death of a redcoat that is suppressing that liberty. I understand that, and accept it, but if you do not at least allow me to explain why I am here, that liberty truly will not be coming any sooner."

The rain had begun to pelt down much harder now, sending both horses to bellowing their displeasure. The sea had also grown angrier with its waves crashing down hard on the shore. The same happening against the jetty; Arthur just barely keeping himself together at the sight of the dark shape from the corner of his eye.

"This weather isn't good for the horses."

Arthur was brought back from having to revisit his memories when the muzzle and bayonet were suddenly missing from in front of his face. Alfred's words had moved the man away to attend to Hero. The horse seeming to quiet at its master's calm touch as he lifted the reigns to lead the animal away.

The horse Alfred had arrived on seemed more than eager to follow along, with or without a rider, and quickly took up pace behind Hero.  
>Meanwhile, Arthur still laid in the sand, the rain still drilling into him while he tried to ponder what had come over the smith. Had Arthur's words gotten to the man? They must have struck true if Alfred needed time to think things over than slice Arthur's neck open.<br>Hoping he was right, Arthur got to his feet, rubbing his now sore jaw as he did, and followed.

* * *

><p>Alfred had lead them all to a small wooden shed in much need of repair just past the treeline against the beach. It was heavily weathered, and its time against the ocean showed. The salt had steadily been eating away at the wooden boards that comprised the walls and roof. Large holes from the damage littered along its base, allowing for weeds and grass to find their way inside. Against the side there stretched a small overhang where Alfred had already gone about tying Hero underneath. It was relatively dry, save the few broken slats that let rain drip in. With the wind as strong as it was though, the rain pushed in underneath the overhang, but it was probably the only shelter for miles. Arthur's gaze finally found the only entrance to the shed. A busted door frame, minus the door, that opened from underneath the overhang.<p>

Seeing as Alfred had decided to take over in caring for Hero, Arthur moved around to the other horse. After having been so use to Hero, the smaller bay was a breeze to deal with. Arthur found himself looking for things to take up time with as Alfred continued to drag on brushing down Hero.

Feeling the increasing awkwardness, Arthur finally decided to head inside the shed and have a look around. Perhaps he'd be lucky and find some scattered hay for the horses.

He didn't want to rush Alfred's thoughts, yet the nagging of the approaching time he would need to report back to Boston had him on edge. Alfred knew of the sweep to come the following morning, yet he acted as though he didn't care. Shouldn't he have been resting if he planned to fight, as foolish of a notion that it was?

Thinking about the fighting and Alfred's health, it brought Arthur to look over his shoulder back through the doorway. He hadn't forgotten Alfred's injuries, nor his ailment, but since Alfred had approached him on the beach, he seemed to have gained an exorbitant amount of self-control over whatever pain or trouble his lungs and injuries must have still caused him.

Arthur recalled their time in the barn only a day before. How Alfred had grimaced and struggled to fight with himself. His strength weakened; showing the effect it had on his pride. Always so strong and independent, to have to suddenly be so reliant on another, it was breaking him.  
>Looking at the man now, Arthur could see he didn't stand as tall as he once did; with his back slightly hunched forward when he walked. His arm was no longer in a sling, but Arthur could tell he favored it. While his lungs still strained, he combated it by keeping his exertion to a minimum. It seemed he would always find ways around what would keep most people in their sick bed. It was certainly something Arthur had to admire in the blacksmith.<p>

"Well?" Arthur jumped, not expecting the smith to come up behind him so soon. He turned on the spot to see Alfred, his arms crossed over his chest while he leaned his good shoulder against the broken door frame. His expression was indifferent. He wasn't at all threatened by Arthur, even while the soldier was still very much armed. It seemed as though Arthur's words, at this point, meant nothing to him regardless of what he said. Had Alfred known the truth though, he might have been singing a different tune.

"Yes, well, I know you-"

"I already know about the redcoats' plans to sweep through the forests for my men come mornin'. If you're here to warn me, or tell me to run away now, than you've wasted your time."

Arthur's hands fisted at his sides as he watched Alfred move from his position at the door frame to look out the single dusty window that faced the beach. The glass, broken in spots, allowing some of the rain to enter the small shed and splatter on Alfred's already wet shirt.

"Alfred, you realize that is fifty odd men per regiment. I understand your men have been training, but the British Army has been trained for years. There's no way you could handle even one group if they came across you."

Alfred's previous nonchalants quickly extinguished as he moved in front of Arthur in what must have been a single stride, causing Arthur to immediately slam up against the side wall. One he had not realized he had been standing so close to, or rather he had misjudged the actual size of the shed. Now, Arthur was forced back to staring into those blue eyes, fierce as ever, but at least this time they were blue. It reminded him of his reoccurring nightmare; standing atop the gallows, those once blue eyes as they went from expressing relief to pain, and in turn changing to gray as they watched Arthur merely toss everything the man could have cared for into a pit of flames.

The vision was gone quickly though as Arthur felt his collar yanked upward, Alfred's face coming within inches of his own.

"You've seen first hand what we're capable of, Arthur! My militia has grown in number! Since the trial and attempted hanging, men have rallied to my side. I've made these men into believers. That's what will win this war. Men with free spirits believing in free ideals. That's what America will be." Arthur could feel his temper rising. Alfred's usual recklessness had gotten him through on pure luck by this point, but it couldn't last forever. Certainly not without help.

"Great plan, Alfred. Show the British Army your militia's strategy. How long will that last? Then when they reform, and know your tactics, how long will your farmers hold up then? How long, Alfred?"

Alfred's fist connected hard against Arthur's jaw, but he was prepared this time. With his face turned now, he spat out blood that now oozed from his busted lip as he glared sidelong at the blacksmith.

"How long, Alfred? No formal military. No formal leaders. How long before your militia needs help? Where do you go then?

Arthur could feel Alfred's hands shaking as they gripped desperately in Arthur's collar. Taking a chance, Arthur turned his gaze back to the smith to find Alfred staring at their feet.

"So you start the war tomorrow, then? Is that what you want?"

Arthur had to strain to hear, as Alfred's words were barely audible above the crashing rain against the wooden shed, "This war started the day your men killed innocent people in the streets of Boston."

"Because your father started it."

Alfred's gaze was up again in an instant, locked with rage as Arthur suddenly felt his throat being crushed by Alfred's forearm.

"He did what was needed!"

Arthur coughed as he struggled some, refusing to bring his arms up in defense though. Arthur had helped Alfred build up this rage inside him, and it was finally being released. In a sense, Arthur deserved as much as he had given, even though he felt just as betrayed. If Alfred felt any regret towards his actions against Arthur, he had yet to show it.

Arthur struggled, "Allowing... innocent men to be killed... was needed?" The pressure against his neck seemed to lessen slightly as Alfred turned his gaze away.

"Sacrifices... had to be made."

"J-just like your own sacrifices then? Rally the people... with your death." He paused to cough, "A true revolutionary."

Alfred finally stepped back. His arms fell away from Arthur as they swung limply at the smith's sides. Arthur wanted to rub at his neck but continued to restrain himself. He just stood up a bit straighter, trying not to bring attention to what Alfred's actions had done to him.

"I-It should have only been my death." Alfred's shoulders began to shake more now, his hands balling into fists as he looked sidelong at the floor. Arthur could just make out the gritted teeth and tightly shut eyes hidden by the smith's blond bangs. His glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. "Only mine."

Arthur bit his lip, tasting the blood that clung to it still.

"Why?" Arthur tensed. "Why... didn't you save him? You... promised me he would be safe. After everything... you still promised..."

With his gaze still averted, Arthur tried to force the words out, "You played me, Alfred, and I was a bleeding sap to have gone along with it. I could have been your inside man. Even that doctor helped; using his daughter as a means to see just how much I would take, while still wanting to help you, and knowing I... couldn't have you."

Alfred hissed through his clamped teeth, sucking in a sharp breath at Arthur's words. He had been aware of what he was doing to Arthur, but he never stopped.

"I... only did what needed to be done. You were a pawn in all of this, yes-" He looked up then, his eyes moist as he fought back his emotions, "but I always intended on returning to you. You've... always had me, Arthur. Ever since you put yourself between that general and... Micah and I." He shook his head, the obvious pain he still felt evident with the hitch of his voice. Arthur couldn't even fathom what time with the smith had been like since that day.

After a bit of struggling, Alfred found his voice again, "You were the first British soldier who showed some humanity to us. You gave me faith then. I just never thought... you would be so against our freedom."

Arthur released his breath with a heavy sigh, his own shoulders now beginning to shake as he tried to contain his own emotions.

"I am... not against it... Alfred. I just... worry you are not ready for it yet." Another sigh escaped Arthur as his jumbled thoughts finally settled down to deliver the inevitable. "Alfred... you might say I have always had you, but I don't believe that is true any longer. Not after what I did to you..." he paused, "what I still... have yet to do to you."

Arthur worried at his lip, his hands now ringing together as regret tinged his thoughts. The words were there, but revealing them began to seem far more difficult than he had originally thought. Alfred had shown Arthur that he still cared, would still care, but only in time would they be together. Arthur just needed to wait, but he couldn't. Always selfish. So selfish.

"... he is alive, Alfred." Whatever Alfred's silent reaction had been, Arthur wasn't aware of, as he had closed his eyes with his final words. His desire for any outcome no longer present.

After what Alfred must have felt was enough time to comprehend Arthur's words, he finally spoke, "...where?"

"At a farm north of your camp."

That was all it took. As Arthur slowly opened his eyes, he found he was alone in the small shed. Peering outside he found Alfred quickly harnessing the horse he had arrived on back up, the storm having not quieted in the least.

"A-Alfred, this weather is not safe! He is in good hands! Please!"

Alfred never even looked up. He was in the saddle in one graceful move and was bolting the bay out into the rain, heading back towards the deepest part of the forest.

His emotions finally broke.

Arthur felt his legs weaken from under him as he knelt down in the wet dirt and sand. His gaze roaming from the trees to the shore, until finally landing on the cold stone jetty. The sea crashing against it, shooting mist into the air as if waving towards him. Crying out to him.

His hands went to his face, and he wept.

"I'm so sorry..."

* * *

><p>Arthur wasn't sure how long he had stayed behind. The storm had slowly begun to let up as he traveled, only a drizzle now wetting the land. He had been riding hard towards the farm he knew Micah was being housed at. Yet, as he arrived, and the small farm house came into view from the emerging forest, he was surprised to find not a soul in sight. The windows were dark, and only a small plume of smoke tendrilled from the chimney. Everyone was still asleep. Arthur knew Alfred had to have come here. He expected to see Alfred's horse, at least, standing somewhere in front of the building. Had Alfred stopped by his camp on his way here? Did something happen to him from the storm's rage? The river was wild as he followed it back northward. Had his horse stumbled?<p>

Arthur's thoughts were getting away from him again. Shaking his head, knowing he had to have been over thinking things, he pushed Hero forward towards the home. He wasn't interested in waking anyone, but he figured he'd wait to see if Alfred showed. Heading down the path, Arthur then saw what he had missed from far up the hill. Fresh hoof prints were in the mud, but trailed around the side of the house to the back. Curious, Arthur slipped from Hero's saddle, leaving the large animal to nibble at some grass, and followed the prints.

As he rounded the corner, he was greeted by both the familiar bay, and Alfred.

"What are you do-"

A hand cut him off. As Arthur neared, he found that Alfred was looking in to the small home through a window that had it's shutters still open to allow what little moon light now broke through the scattered clouds. Confused, Arthur neared the smith with caution to see what the man was looking at. Once he was close enough, Arthur immediately understood.

Lit by a lone shaft of moon light, was Micah's young face, tucked next to the sleeping form of his mother.

Seeing this, Arthur quickly looked to see what Alfred's expression was, only to be surprised by the complete lack of expression instead. He was completely stoic, as he stared down at the small boy who still had yet to know he had an older brother. An older brother who still stood unsure of what to do.

Arthur made to speak but Alfred raised a hand once more.

"I don't want to wake him."

"W-why not?"

"He deserves his rest."

With those words, Alfred then turned and walked back to his horse to pick up the animal's reigns. Arthur fell over his own words as he tripped over to Alfred.

"Don't you deserve your own? He has wanted to see you, Alfred, more than anything." Arthur found himself pleading to the man as he headed his horse off to the large barn that stood a far distance from the main home.

Alfred said nothing as he opened the large barn doors and moved inside.

Arthur cursed as he quickly went back for Hero, before returning to the barn as well. Completely at a loss for words as to why Alfred would act so indifferent after having gone through such despair.

Getting back to the barn, Arthur walked in to find the other horse had already been stripped of its burden and left to eat and drink. Alfred was missing, but Arthur felt leaving the man to his thoughts for a few minutes might help, so he went about the task of seeing to Hero.

After he was content that Hero was settled, Arthur turned to start his search for the smith, at least he would have, if the man wasn't already walking towards him.

"A-Alfred, I..."

"If you planned to apologize than so be it, but know that you don't owe me one."

Arthur looked at the smith confused. He was going to apologize, but Alfred most certainly did deserve one. He deserved far more than what Arthur could give after what he had done, but here Alfred wanted nothing?

"I _am_ sorry, Alfred. It is by far too small a thing to give back to you after so much that I took, but, why should I not owe you more? After the torture I had to have put you through. Even while you battled against death. Even as you still fought for your men and your home. I owe you _so _much, Alfred."

Alfred only shook his head, his features soft, his blond hair glowing from the strands of moonlight that filtered in from the roof. He took a few steps forward, and brought his strong hands up to Arthur's face. They gently brushed along his jaw, his hair, till they cupped his face tenderly. Arthur's eyes widened in shock as his heart began to pound in his chest. His vision felt blurred as he tried to look up into Alfred's eyes, but found it exceedingly difficult to do so. Instead, his eyes found Alfred's lips and grew exceedingly confused by the slight frown they held.

"Arthur-" His voice, how Arthur had forgotten just how tender it was, how caring and loving it was. It had enveloped him that night in the woods. Their bodies entwined together, pushing past so many obstacles that had come between them and what would soon befall them. Neither of them knew then, nor did either of them know what was to come now. All Arthur could do was squint his eyes as the familiar pain began to swell behind his eyelids.

"You saved me, Arthur, and not just in the ways one would believe. You saved me from death that first night on the beach when you turned away your gun. I had been ready. Ready to die for some stupid belief that everything I did was pointless." He paused, "I didn't care what happened. You were my answer. An escape I could never give myself. Yet... you didn't."

Alfred then took one hand from Arthur's face to fish in one of his pockets. From its depths he lifted out a single musket ball and brought it in between them.

"A shot meant for me."

Arthur looked at him confused, "What is-?"

Alfred looked at the small metal ball, held lightly between his thumb and index finger. There had been nothing striking about it. Arthur could not figure out the significance.

"After you dropped your pistol at my feet, and returned inside, I had picked it up and rolled the musket ball-" He waved the ball in his hands in front of Arthur's face, "this musket ball, out of the barrel. I didn't understand what it meant back then. Everything that has happened since then, has lead up to now." He replaced the ball in his pocket, his hand gently returning against Arthur's steadily flushing face.

Arthur looked at the smith before him. Unsure of how to continue. How to discern exactly Alfred's meaning behind everything he had said... had concluded upon.

"W-where do we go now then?" Alfred stood so close to Arthur that his body heat warmed his own chilled form. His hands shook at his sides, unsure of where to go, what to do, what to touch or what not to. He wanted this. He wanted Alfred. Everything was meant to be right in the end. He just needed to be reassured that it would be.

As if all of Arthur's questions had been worded at once, it only took Alfred's lips on Arthur's own to finalize them all.

Arthur's hands, no longer fumbling on what to do, quickly went up to grasp at Alfred's strong back, pulling him flush against Arthur and in turn deepening their kiss. Alfred's touch was tender. His long, calloused, fingers ran through Arthur's hair as he parted Arthur's lips gently with his tongue. Arthur more than welcoming as he grew intoxicated by his taste. Alfred's tongue, roaming gently against Arthur's. Lovingly and slow, nothing like how their first time had been.

Arthur moaned around their kiss, as Alfred's hands gently ran down his neck to around his collar, beginning to unfasten the many buttons of his coat. His musket belt that ran across his chest was slid off and unclasped to land lightly in the hay. His sword, belt and pistol to rest along side that. With his weapons safely removed, his red uniform was then easily shed.

Alfred wore only his shirt, and it still clung to his chest from the rain. Arthur parted their lips and then gently began to kiss down along Alfred's jaw, moving to the throbbing vein in his neck to suck tenderly at it, as his hands roamed up the smith's chest to untie the few strands to loosen the shirt from around his neck.

Alfred gave a soft moan as Arthur sucked, ghosting his tongue in small circles in the same area as he began to pull the linen shirt from Alfred's trousers.

Once freed, Arthur parted to allow Alfred to remove the shirt from over his head to fall with the rest of Arthur's belongings. They weren't apart for long before Alfred stepped forward quickly to do the same with Arthur's shirt, before he gently rested Arthur back to the hay strewn ground. His knee coming up between Arthur's legs to add pressure against Arthur's gradually stiffening cock.

Arthur groaned with the friction, before he brought his arms up around Alfred's shoulders and pulling him down for another deep kiss.  
>He felt Alfred smile against his lips, as the man's hands went down to work at Arthur's belt and trousers. They came away easily as Alfred kneeled back to lift Arthur's legs to untie his boots before pulling off the remainder of his clothing.<p>

Arthur now rested nude in the hay, his body open to the chill of the barn. He winced as a cold breeze suddenly blew in before Alfred was over him again. His body seeming to never have difficulties with the cold as it warmed Arthur's as he neared.

Alfred's hands roamed down Arthur's thin sides, sending a shiver up Arthur's spine as the smith seemed to want to learn more about Arthur in touch alone. He didn't have to do much though before Arthur's cock was stiff with need, rubbing against Alfred's smooth stomach as the smith moved above him.

"A-Alfred."

The smith moved down to breath gently against Arthur's ear, his lips taking Arthur's earlobe between them, inciting yet another moan from Arthur before he finally pulled back to whisper, "I want to make love to you."

Arthur's head swam with Alfred's words, causing him to turn his head to take Alfred's lips in his own as his answer. Arthur's hands then going down to the smith's belt to release Alfred's throbbing member.

"Ung, Arthur-" Alfred bit down some on Arthur's collar bone as the soldier gently squeezed and slid his hand up Alfred's thick cock. Circling his thumb over the smooth head, while rubbing some of Alfred's precum over it. Alfred's hips bucked forward into Arthur's hand for more stimulation, but Arthur withdrew, lifting his own hips to rub against the smith's. Their cocks rubbing together by the connection.

Alfred moaned more, his shoulders tensing above Arthur as he buried his face into Arthur's shoulder.

"Arthur, I- need you."

Arthur smiled, twining his fingers now through Alfred's sweaty hair, while he brought his other hand to his own mouth. Sucking some on his index and middle finger in order to prepare himself.

Rolling his hips up once more against the smith, Arthur reached around to begin to stretch his entrance. Hissing some at the still unfamiliar feeling. One finger was more than enough to start as he barely made it past the ring of muscles, but Alfred heard Arthur's distress, and calmly ran his hand along Arthur's chest and stomach. His featherlight caress brought Arthur's attention away from the pain, which made it so he could slowly continue, finally managing to get a second finger inside him.

"Let me." Arthur darted a look at Alfred as he smiled down at him. Arthur nodded and removed his fingers, while Alfred wet his own before gently reaching behind Arthur to slide his own fingers inside the small soldier.

Alfred's fingers were larger than Arthur's and he immediately felt that much more stretched to try and compensate for the smith, but not having to struggle at the odd angle himself, he began to feel some pleasure from Alfred's stimulation. Soon, Alfred had his fingers in up to the knuckle and arched just right to hit that sensitive bundle of nerves that sent Arthur's body arching upwards. A gasp escaping his lips at the feeling.

Alfred smiled as he leaned down to kiss Arthur tenderly along his jaw and neck as he slowly moved his fingers in and out of the soldier, repeatedly hitting that same spot as he went.

"A-Alfred, I c-can't-"

"I want you to cum." Alfred's voice dusted against Arthur's ear, as the smith continued to move his fingers in and out, before finally Arthur came on his own chest. His breathing having been lost as his body stiffened in its release. After he was spent and he slowly relaxed from his high, Alfred grasped Arthur's slowly softening cock to pull what little cum could remain, before gathering what was spent in his hand to slick his own member.

"I'm going to enter you now. Are you alright?"

Alfred's words were soft and caring, just as before, and Arthur only nodded before Alfred rested back on his strong calfs to lift Arthur's legs over his shoulders. The soldier was well ready, as Alfred took his own cock and gently moved the cum slicked head against the soldier's entrance.

Arthur groaned with the feeling, before Alfred finally moved forward more, his cock pushing in past the ring of muscles, before slowly thrusting further inside.

"Ung, Arthur- you're still so tight."

Arthur lifted his hips more for Alfred to move deeper. The smith's hands wrapping around Arthur's tiny waist to help bury him to the hilt.

"A-Alfred, I don't remember it... feeling the same way before."

Arthur bucked his hips some on Alfred causing the man to groan as he continued to try and hold himself steady inside the soldier. Just entering the soldier had him near to bursting, and he wanted this to last. Neither of them knew where only a few hours from then would leave them.

"Before- ung, we just needed each other. There... was little else but lust. I want- to do it right this time."

Arthur moaned Alfred's name at his words, finally stirring Alfred to move his hips back, before thrusting forward. Slowly at first, still trying to keep himself from coming so soon, before he found a steady rhythm. Holding Arthur's hips in place as he rocked into the soldier.

Arthur's cock was already beginning to stiffen again with the added pleasure. His hands fisting above his head in the straw as he watched Alfred take him. The smith's stomach muscles clenching as he moved. Sweat running down his arms as he held fast to the smaller soldier.

"Arthur..."

"A-alfred, ugh-"

Alfred gritted his teeth as he let go of Arthur's hips with one hand, rocking as far forward over Arthur and as deep inside the soldier as he could go before he stiffened and released his seed deep inside the soldier. Arthur in turn, came again, arching his back as Alfred slowly bucked his hips forward a few more times into the soldier. Spending every ounce of himself inside Arthur before slowly easing out.

Their limbs shook, their breathing was heavy, their vision clouded from the euphoria. Alfred finally rested down into the straw next to Arthur, his energy completely drained. Arthur, now missing the warmth above him, edged closer to the smith to wrap along side him. His arm resting across Alfred's chest, while his leg he brought up over to entwine between Alfred's.

With a contented sigh, Alfred finally spoke, "This... was how it should have been."

Arthur felt his heart beat quicken at Alfred's words. How everything that had happened could have lead up to this still had Arthur at a loss. He couldn't drift off to sleep now without some knowledge as to why.

"But did everything we go through really need to happen?"

"I haven't the answer for that, but you left me with a promise," Alfred turned Arthur's face to look him in the eyes. Those sky blue eyes. Still so full of freedom just by themselves. They alone lifted Arthur's own spirits in those moments. Faith that things would turn out in the end having been rekindled. Alfred continued, "after the game I put you through. After I pushed and pulled at your heart. After I forced you to have to accept my death, you kept your promise in the end. Your means of going about that, after what I put you through, are understandable. Your part in all of this was not easy, and I had forgotten that after that day. I had grown blind in my rage, forgetting that I had played my own part in moving you for my own plans. You did everything, and we both succeeded, because here we are."

His smile was finally there. That honest and sincere smile Arthur had fallen in love with. It would be better from now on. Arthur no longer believed Alfred and his men couldn't win against the British. He could, and this land would be free. It would grow, and expand, and bring with it the worlds of old to a new age for mankind.

Arthur smiled in return, lifting a hand to caress against Alfred's cheek. They both still had plans to follow, but at least now they knew, they would both be there together in the end.

**A/N:**  
><strong>Sappy sex scene was sappy! I hope it was still hot though. ;D<strong>

**I hope you've enjoyed the ride so far! It's been an eventful one. With ch14 at a close, you've learned what the rebels have been doing, more about Arthur's past, a loose end with that musket ball from Ch1 returning, and of course lots of emotional make-up time for Al and Art (which was heavily past due. haha).**

**It's coming down to the wire folks! Chapter 15 will be the last chapter for "Quartering Acts". I would first like to say a heartfelt 'thank you' to everyone who has reviewed, faved, and alerted to this fic. Your warm enthusiasm through this long process has really been what's kept this story alive. I am a novice writer, much more of an enjoyer of literature than my own work, so seeing this story come to an end next chapter is a huge undertaking for me. So, with that, thank you all, truly, and please do let me know your thoughts on your way out. :) *heart*  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Follow me on tumblr for status updates regarding my USUK fanfictions and fanart: <em>ahro. tumblr. com<em>**


	16. Chapter 15

**Quartering Acts**

**By Ahro**

**Warning: Sexual Situations, violence, and language.  
><strong>

_A/N: This is it guys. Everything boils down to a close with this chapter. Thank you all for having read and stuck with me through this story. Its been a great time and I hope to see you all again in a future fic. ^^ This chapter will be split between both Arthur and Alfred's POVs (unlike previous chapters). There will be obvious line breaks when we switch scene and POV._

**Chapter 15  
><strong>

_"Alfred, son, we need to talk."_

The smouldering hot iron in front of him had quivered with each raining blow as he struck it. The sharp sound, now coming faster and faster as Alfred worked to try and hide his pain through the repetition. His anger.

_"What more could you say, Dad, that you haven't already shown me?" _His tone, clipped in anger as he had tried to force everything away. Find some normality again.

A heavy sigh came from his old man then as he had entered further into his forge. It had only been a few days since his long time friend, Samuel Berkley, had taken his business as well as his son, John, to the south. Away from the familiar, and away from furthering the sins their sons had committed.

_"I'm working in the forge, just as you always wanted, Dad. Best not to bother me now or I might ruin this fine iron." _He had continued to hammer away.

His father had walked in closer. Alfred remembered seeing out of the corner of his eye just how much older he had looked then, rubbing at the back of his neck; a common habit Alfred had picked up when he was nervous and unsure. The blond in his hair having grayed heavily now. Alfred suddenly recalled never remembering it having been so. When had that happened?

_"I'm very proud to see you working so hard again, Alfred."_

Alfred 'humfed', shrugging his shoulders as he had continued to strike blow after blow on the hot metal. Thinning it further into its final shape.

_"Though... it pains me as to why you've suddenly locked yourself away in here."_

_"Well, I know I'll never be a good hunter as I can't even kill a rabbit. Guess the next best thing was to supply the hunters with their weapons instead." _So much resentment had been in his voice. He knew he had been hurting his father. He continued anyway.

_"Alfred. I understand how you felt for John, but know that your acts could condemn you in the eyes of others. I only supported Samuel's decision to keep you both safe."_

He had thrown the unfinished iron into the coals, tongs and all, and turned on his heel to approach his father. Alfred had never even noticed just how much taller he had become. Already at eye level with his father and soon he would have looked down at him.

_"To keep us safe."_ He had repeated, his hands, balling into fists at his sides.

_"Yes. I do not condone your feelings or actions. I want to see you have the freedom in your choices."_ He had paused, hanging his head. So much he must have wanted to say or do. How much Alfred had wanted him to do, yet he didn't. _"But it isn't time yet."_

He had punched him then.

Alfred's fist, now covered in his father's blood as the man landed hard on the stone floor. Not a sound had escaped him, yet Alfred knew with how he had landed, his father's hip had been broken. Yet, his father had always been strong, and he did not show an ounce of pain as he wobbled to his feet, now bearing weight on his good leg.

He would fashion himself a cane then.

There were no words said after that.

Then Alfred left. To escape out in the harbor for as long as he could. Forever if he could.

The date had been March 1st, 1770. In four days, Alfred's father would travel to Boston with a delivery, and never come back.

Alfred ran a hand through his hair as he leaned against the barn door. The sun was just beginning to break along the horizon. The sky, lit red like fire, was only the prelude to a bad day.

He couldn't stick around for long. Already he could see movement in the small farm house below. Micah's mother would be up. Bustling around the kitchen preparing to break their fast. Micah at her skirts wherever she went, always wanting to help. Whoever the owner of the farm was would be waking up to start his day. Alfred was thankful for this man's help, and only hoped he was trustworthy. If there was time, Alfred would check in on the man. Make sure the few people he cared about in this world would be safe.

_The few people in this world._

He took a moment to slowly look over his shoulder. The British Captain, still fast asleep in the hay, a large blanket now draped across him. It felt surreal. To know everything now. For both of them to have come to terms with one another. Yet, a pain still sat in Alfred's chest, knowing he had caused Arthur to go to such an extreme. Alfred had never taken into account just how hurtful his plan was to Arthur. To be pushed and pushed and pushed, yet still keep his word in the end. More than a week of remorse and anger at Arthur and himself, yet it was hardly a price to pay.

Now, after everything that happened over the course of one night, Arthur was with him again, but not for long.

Alfred jumped slightly as the blanket stirred and Arthur's rustled blond hair poked up from his pillow of hay. Alfred had to crack a smile at the stray pieces that clung to him. After a moment of rubbing his eyes, realization must have struck as he quickly looked around the area for the smith.

"Mornin' Arthur."

Arthur stopped his frantic searching, his gaze falling on Alfred as he came away from the shadow of the door. His shoulders quickly relaxing as Alfred neared, the sudden stress leaving his body.

"I-I thought you had left."

"We both will have to soon."

Arthur went quiet as he looked away.

The smith smiled as he walked back over to Arthur, kneeling in front of him as Arthur kept himself wrapped in the blanket from the cold air. Lifting a hand, he gently rested it against Arthur's cheek, snapping the soldier's attention back to his own. Worry read in those green eyes as they watched Alfred. Their world quickly spinning out of its perfect bubble.

"Will you-" Arthur paused as he darted his eyes away once more. Alfred stroked at his cheek with his thumb, giving Arthur that little bit of reassurance to continue. "You and your men, will you head north?"

Alfred gave a slow nod, "You were right, Arthur. I've been rash in my decisions with my men as of late. Word hasn't even come back from Parliament regardin' the Continental Congress' appeal. It would be a foolish move to reveal our combat strategy so soon. Word of a Continental Army is to be formed if Parliament declines us once again. I would much rather join the Army's ranks with able men, and a strategy all our own if it comes to that."

Arthur gave a quick nod. Alfred could tell Arthur was still against this war, but the smith believed the soldier had at least, finally, come to terms that it would not go away, Alfred would not step down, but he would still be there for Arthur. He would always be there for Arthur.

"Right then-" Alfred stood back up, a large smile on his face, "-best you get dressed. I'll see to the horses."

"Alfred."

The smith had turned to see to his task before he was quickly halted by the concern in Arthur's voice. Having a feeling he knew what Arthur was going to say, he turned around nonchalantly to try to reassure the soldier of any doubts he may have.

"You are... going to go see Micah, right?"

Alfred would have rather talked about the war.

He reached up to rub at the back of his neck, a half smile creeping up on Alfred's face as he did.

"I know he's safe, and I know where he is. I'll visit him another time when our situations are better suited."

Arthur's gaze turned to a glare. "Besides, I'm a little concerned that he'll force feed me one of his mother's apple pies. They're actually quite disgustin', even though the boy raves about them."

"Alfred."

"He must have an iron stomach. Last time I had a slice, Dr Shannon was at my bedside for a week."

"Alfred!"

The smith dropped his joking as Arthur had walked up to him now, the blanket still clung around him.

"Alfred, you don't know when you might be back this way again. I'll stall my men as long as I can before we move. You have time." He said that last part with earnest, catching Alfred's blue eyes with his own green.

The smith blew out a heavy sigh as he ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head at Arthur's words.

"Its not enough time. That boy deserves so much more from me than I can give him right now, and I'd rather not tease him."

Alfred cringed as he felt the anger beginning to rise from the smaller soldier.

"What he _deserves_?" Arthur grabbed Alfred's arm, jolting him to look directly at the soldier. "He _deserves_ to know he has a brother who loves him! Regardless of how little or too much time you both have, even just a wave to him so he sees you're still alive, Alfred! He deserves at least that much from you."

Alfred turned his gaze away, chewing at his lip now in worry until he suddenly felt Arthur's hand rest against his cheek. His thumb moving to stroke his bottom lip that had always been marred from the habit. A smile now lingered across Arthur's lips as Alfred looked once again at the soldier.

"I will see to the horses, Alfred. You go down there and see him." He then leaned up some to leave a chaste kiss on the smith's lips before turning back to his pile of clothing to get changed.

Blowing out a sigh, knowing he wasn't going to get very far with the soldier, Alfred turned and stalked outside of the barn, quickly being hit by a gust of cool air before shutting the barn itself.

His gaze lingered once more on the small home down the hill. His hand going up to rub at the back of his neck as he fought with himself.

_Dammit, Arthur. I'm not ready to tell him exactly who I am to him, yet._

"He knows."

Alfred's hand was around the pistol at his belt in an instant, quickly darting back a few steps from the location of the voice before swinging the preloaded flintlock up to the ready. His hand began to waver though the minute the owner of the voice stepped out from the shadow of the barn.

"Alfred," A jovial smile lit the man's face as he walked closer, his arms out stretched to show he held no weapon, "-it's good to finally see you again, lad."

"Mr Berkley, what-?" He held his weapon steady, still aimed at the man as he approached. Alfred's confusion was blatant in his expression upon seeing a face from his childhood dressed in red.

The man laughed, "Don't let the red fool ya, Alfred. I'm on your side in all of this."

"So you're posin' as a loyalist?" Alfred paused, noting the ranked insignias on the man's shoulders. "But, how did you become a corporal?"

The man shot a thumb over his shoulder towards the barn doors, "Your friend is the one to thank for that. Puttin' a shot between ol' Dereks' eyes opened up a spot in the line. Let's say Redford liked me a bit more than some other prospects." He laughed again. "Could-ja' put that thing away? We're all friends here."

Alfred hesitated, but kept his aim trained on the man he had once thought of as an uncle... and one who had a son that he had once loved.

Berkley laughed again, "That's why you're the one leadin' a militia."

"Alright, enough of this, what were you sayin' about Micah?"

The man smiled as he walked a little ways down the hill, Alfred's pistol still aimed and ready.

"He knows you're his brother. He's known for a few years now."

Alfred's grip loosened for only a moment, "What?"

"Micah. His mother told him you were his brother after she heard the news of your father's death. She thought she would be taking care of you, but you proved to be more... independent, than she realized."

Alfred thought back to the time when Emily had shown up at his door. A musket in her arms. Those engraved words... as if they were etched not just in the metal, but Alfred's own skin.

She had told him he would always have a home and a family, but Alfred had refused it all. Instead, he took to protecting them as his father had once done, and lived on without anyone to call family. It would only ever be Alfred now.

He had taken the musket, and with it the knowledge of how to rifle his own. It would come to be his life for the next four years. Every day, no one would ever see him outside of his forge. He made no attempt to speak with anyone, and after a while, they did the same. Only when he had to sell his wares in town was he forced to speak with anyone.

The quiet he wanted.

The solitude he wanted.

Nothing else mattered.

Nothing had ever mattered.

"You knew... what his plans were?" Berkley's back was still facing Alfred, the gun, slightly shaking in his hands now as he stared down the barrel.

There was a pause as Alfred watched, seeing the man's shoulders droop. It looked as if he had suddenly felt his age at Alfred's words. Weighing him down with the burdens of his life. Forever hidden beneath a jovial facade. All except now, when it finally came down to face his best friend's son.

A heavy sigh finally broke the still in the air as the man turned. That smile had disappeared. His hair seemed grayer. His face more lined. His eyes sunken. He then caught Alfred's attentive gaze with his own tired one.

"You've certainly made your father proud, Alfred."

Those words, it struck something in Alfred as he stared now at the reality before him. Now no longer covered by a mask, Alfred could remember.

"You're that elderly man in the streets when I was being carted off to the jail."

A faint smile spread across his face then, "Aye, lad."

"H-how long... have you been helping me?"

Another smile, "Not me... my son-" He paused once more as a rumbling sound emanated from behind the two of them, causing Alfred to turn quickly, "-as well as that young man there."

"Arthur."

"A-Alfred, what are you still doing here? Why haven't you gone down to see Micah?" Arthur paused a moment upon noticing the other man. "Oh- Colonel Berkley, what are you doing here?"

The man laughed, "I requested to be quartered at this farm here. The owner is an old friend of mine."

Alfred turned at this, "Y-you're protectin' them?"

The man smiled up at Alfred. A faint shine lighting up his eyes as he did.

"It had been part of the final request your father asked of me. I did all that I could from such a distance, until finally it had come time that you needed my help much closer." He gave another laugh again, "because this area was my home, I was given the job of finding suitable places for the freshly landed British soldiers to be quartered." His gaze then drifted over to Arthur. "I saw something different in Arthur that I had not seen in any other soldier before."

Arthur's full attention was now on the colonel. His eyes wide by Berkley's words.

"You had suffered a great loss, and it showed in how determined you were to find a new life, a new path or meaning here on this soil. You were still plagued by the brainwashed ideals from your Parliament as to who and what these colonists were, but you had a compassion in you that still shown past all of that. I knew that with a little help, you would push past what your Parliament wanted you to see. Who better to show you the determination of this land's people than Alfred." He motioned with his hand to the blond who stood between the two redcoats.

"Y-you quartered Arthur with me?" A nod. "Did you ever suspect that we would-"

"I stole away one love from you. I felt perhaps you may find another. Of course it took a bit of forcing to do so. You turned into quite the hermit, Alfred."

Alfred's arm finally lowered the pistol. The flintlock hanging loosely in his grip now by his side.

A silence then fell between the three as a cool morning breeze stirred the grass at their feet. Their thoughts seemingly whirling along with the breeze with this new information. There had been so much preplanned. Alfred felt as if his father was still alive, moving his pieces into place even now.

"Alfred-" Arthur's voice came at almost a whisper as he walked away from the barn now, coming along Alfred's side and resting a soothing hand on his shoulder. "What about Micah?"

Alfred's gaze lingered on Arthur a moment before looking back at the house. The sun had crept higher in the sky now, causing the dew to sparkle in the grass from the previous night's rain. Beyond the threatening red sky, the air felt calm. Now, if only Alfred could benefit from that feeling as well. Even with the support of Arthur, standing by his side, a hand on his shoulder, giving him the reassurance and strength he needed, only it wouldn't be enough.

With a shake of his head, he stepped out of Arthur's touch and headed back for the barn door. "There is no more time. I need to get back to my men." He rested a fist against the door as he hung his head, inhaling a deep breath, "I'll ride back this way alone. When I know everyone is safe, I'll visit Micah then."

He heard Arthur blow out a sigh from behind him, but let the smith go without a word of protest.

Thankful for this, Alfred walked back into the barn to retrieve Hero and his own horse, only to turn and be stopped by Arthur standing directly behind him.

His eyes were stern as they looked up at him. As if the soldier could read every thought and fear running through Alfred's mind. Displaying across his face as if he were a book.

Alfred could feel his pulse quicken, bringing his face flushed under that drilling stare by those emerald eyes. All he wanted to do was run. Get on his horse and hurry away from here. As much as he wanted to see the small boy, he also couldn't bare it. His mind felt at ease enough just knowing he was safe. Everyone was allowed to be a coward at times. Why couldn't he have this moment to be a coward himself?

"Are you sure about this?"

Alfred took a moment before he finally nodded.

"When you told me he was alive, the only thought that ran through my head was that you were lying. It couldn't be true. Not after all that time. Not after I kissed you in the barn, and you rejected me. I thought this was how you would kill me in the end, but I took the bait anyway. I pushed and pushed my horse till I thought I had burst its lungs, 'till finally that farm house came into view." Alfred paused, those feelings of doubt, suspicion, regret, and fear returning to him as it had when he stood at the top of the hill near the edge of the forest. Just waiting. Always waiting.

"Once I made it to the house... I just couldn't bring myself to knock. I didn't want whoever lived there to look at me and tell me 'no'. I didn't want them to see me fall into the mud at their feet. The tears at that point just too much to keep back. I'm tired of feeling so pathetic. Even some of my men had begun to question my leading capabilities. With my health the way its been... I've tried to hide it, but this weather only makes it worse." His shoulders shook as he looked away from Arthur now. "I'm a mess, Arthur. I can't let Micah see me like this. I want him to remember me how I was."

A resounding smack rang through the barn, both horses suddenly snorting in distress by the loud crack, dust kicking up around them from their hooves.

"Don't..." Alfred never turned his head, his cheek throbbing from the hit, "Don't you dare spout such bullshit, Alfred Jones! You said to me last night, before we made love, and made me feel like the world would finally turn around now, that I had saved you when I lowered my gun that night on the beach. I saved you, so you owe me a life, Alfred. If your decision is not to see Micah right now, then I will respectfully leave you to your wishes, but do not make it sound like you will not ever see that boy again!"

Alfred finally took a chance and turned his head. Arthur still stood there, firm as could be, yet his eyes shined with the threat of tears that he was fighting to hold back.

"Arthur... I'm so sorry. I keep doing this... I'm so sorry." Alfred moved forward quickly to embrace the soldier. Wrapping his arms around him, pulling him close. He could feel Arthur's heart hammering in his chest, and it pained him even further that he was the continuous cause, but it had been a different reason the night before. How he could cause these opposing emotions within Arthur baffled him, and part of him wished he never had in the first place.

"You are such an idiot."

Arthur's arms finally came up to grip at the back of Alfred's shirt, pulling the fabric tight in his hands while he buried his face in the smith's shoulder.

_It will be different this time. Samuel gave me this chance. I will make it right._

After they stood together for a few minutes, Alfred pushed away, while gently lifting Arthur's gaze to meet his own. The soldier's eyes had calmed, there had been no tears shed. They had gone past the point for tears. Their combined strength was what was needed now. Both holding each other together, never letting one fall, always together.

Alfred smiled then. Nothing wide, or laughing, but one of calm acceptance. One he hoped would ease Arthur's fears and doubts towards the smith. It wouldn't happen again.

"When I see you again," Alfred turned, handing over the reigns of Hero that he had been holding, bringing the horse closer, "I want to see you astride Hero. My men have all been told the man riding Hero is on our side. They may not recognize you, but they will him. I will keep you safe, even if I'm not there."

Arthur did not say a word, only stared as Alfred took Arthur's hand and curled his fingers around the leather straps.

"I will make it back to you." Alfred leaned forward, placing a soft kiss to the soldier's forehead before leaning back, "I promise."

With those final words, Alfred grabbed up his mare's reigns and hoped into her saddle. Arthur never said another word, only looked on at him and quietly nodded his understanding.

After a silent exchange, Alfred kicked his mare forward and flew through the open barn doors into the early morning rays. He would need to get back to his men and fast if they were to make it past Salem in time.

Just as Alfred emerged from the barn, Samuel called out to him, causing Alfred to pull hard on his mare's reigns to turn around.

"On your way then?"

"We need to reach the New Hampshire border before noon. I've delayed far too long already."

The corporal nodded, "You'll get there, but your delay was not unnecessary." The man walked up to Alfred, resting a large gloved hand on the smith's thigh as he looked up at him. A wide grin on the older man's face.

"Stay safe now, Alfred. You'll be great one day."

Alfred remained silent at the man's words, and after a nod, sent his mare galloping back off into the trees without another look back.

* * *

><p>Arthur and his regiment had arrived in Salem that night with no sign of rebels along the way. Alfred and his men had escaped, but escaped to where Arthur did not know.<p>

Nor would he know for some time, as he was later relocated further south to join up with General Redford's army in New York.

He would command and take commands, kill rebels, and imprison traitors, all while he secretly gave food to starving colonial children, helped chop wood for the homeowners he was forced to quarter with, and pass off information on the movements of British troops.

He would do this all over the course of a year, until he was brought back to the soil in which he first stepped foot on, one August long ago.

"We'll be moving through the forests to attempt a siege on Boston, sir. Do you think the Continental Army will be able to hold us back?"

Arthur had smiled at John then, knowing full well who the very men were that made up this portion of the newly formed Continental Army. It would be here that the British Army would most certainly be driven back. That was if they even made it through the forest to Boston. Arthur would be surprised.

With no one allowed into Arthur's tent except his commanding officers, and newly appointed Lieutenant John Berkley, he could speak without much worry when it was currently only the two of them.

"I know he's still alive out there, and I know he will succeed." He smiled, and placed a comforting hand on the lieutenant's shoulder. "John-"

"Sir!" Berkley saluted.

Arthur grinned again, ever since he learned the truth about Berkley, the man still remained the same in all his mannerisms and duties. He had never let Arthur down, and he knew he would not let his true home down either.

"I want you to ride out on Hero tomorrow."

The lieutenant wavered where he stood, "S-sir? Hero is your horse. He does not-"

"He likes you, John. You and that horse go back to when you were only a boy. You should be the one riding him this time."

"But, why now, sir?"

Arthur shrugged as he turned to the wooden table that stood in the center of his tent. A map of the lands of New England spread out in front of him. Small flags representing both armies in their supposed locations littered across it. A large amount of blue flags having taken over the Massachusetts coast line.

"This is your home, John, as much as it's Hero's. You both should be together upon it after such a time away from it."

The lieutenant seemed to fret over Arthur's words, but finally nodded his understanding.

"Good. We will be setting out at dawn. Sleep well, Lieutenant."

"Aye, sir. Same to you."

* * *

><p>That day in April, when Alfred's men pushed the British out of Boston, out of his city, he knew they were finally at war, and would win. Had to win. Even after the few losses that came later at Bunker and Breeds Hills, he felt it through his entire being that this would all end with their victory. As a people, they had all suffered too much to give up. His men, would give their lives, and that was something the British lacked. They fought for rank and coin; his men, fought for life and freedom.<p>

After a shot from one of his men's muskets, safe hidden amongst the trees, pierced a uniformed general astride his horse, the redcoats broke into a frenzy. Taking cover, shooting around blindly at their assailants, while his men lined up their shots, and picked the scattered men off like animals. Then they would retreat. Was their country more important than their own lives? This was foreign soil to them. Their homes and family, safe far across the ocean. What were these colonies to them.

That mentality was what helped push Alfred's men to further victories, as well as bring their skills to light to the newly appointed General George Washington of the Continental Army.

He had come up to him, riding a beautiful white stallion, dressed in a vibrant blue uniform. Alfred had raised his arm in salute immediately at the man he had heard so much about. The conversation that had followed would stay with Alfred forever. He only wished his father was there to have seen it.

_This is your victory, dad. I hope, somehow, you know your oldest son believed in your vision, even though you never trusted to confide it in him._

More months passed, his men, now decorated in the same blue of their newly formed army, fought on in smaller bouts against the British, winning and losing but neither gaining much ground. A day came in August, when General Washington came to Alfred with word of a large battalion of British soldiers heading up from New York. Alfred's men were the finest marksmen their army had. The numbers would need to be thinned, starting by confusing the men by taking out their officers. Alfred would position his men amidst the trees along the roads. Even after having used these tactics before, the British had yet to take up much defense against it. Still relaying heavily on the old ways of an open field. They were proud, Alfred gave them that, but with the Continental Army still new and without properly trained men, they needed to take what advantages they could get.

"You know Alfred-"

"Hmm?" Alfred sat at his work bench he had put together in a nearby barn, diligently inspecting and repairing his muskets, the same bronze muskets he had fashioned over four years under the scrutiny of the British. Always hiding 'till the day came when his work would stamp out the path of their revolution.

The doctor, who had proved a valuable asset both on and off the battlefield, walked around the perimeter of the bench. His fingers tracing over the shining bronze barrels. All neatly aligned and ready to be replaced on their wooden stocks.

"You have come a long way since I've known you."

Alfred laughed, "Since I was that mess you had to take care of in the forest last year?"

A warm smile spread across the doctor's face, but he shook his head, "No, well before that. I pulled you crying into this world, and since then I watched you grow. You've always been strong, Alfred, but something in you only ever showed when you were in my care." He paused, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth, trying to stifle the laugh that wanted to brew there. "I remember a time when your father had mocked you for the umpteenth time out in the woods, and you sought after me like a wounded animal. You had to be around seven then. So small as you clung to my leg. I remember how my daughter would always wonder why you ran to me instead of your mother at that time."

Alfred's cleaning had stopped while he listened. His early childhood was not something he thought of often. There had been much death then. The loss of his younger brother as well as his mother. While he was growing up he had blamed his father for their deaths as well. As he looked back now, his heart grew heavy at how much hatred he had shown towards his father... which he did not deserve.

Alfred cleared his throat, quickly resuming his cleaning again, "I didn't want to disappoint her. She didn't need to see me cry."

"What about your father's friend, Samuel? You had considered him an uncle."

"He- he was too much like my father. You were-" Alfred paused, trying to find his words to best describe why he had sought out the doctor back then. Why he continued to seek the man's help when he was desperate, and not just because he was a doctor. "You were more the opposite of both of them. They wanted me to kill. To fight and protect. You were a healer. You helped the sick and injured. I... guess that made you the one person I really looked up to. Someone who would have understood me."

Dr Shannon smiled again as he neared where Alfred sat, resting a hand on his shoulder as he did.

"Part of me regrets that you will never wed my daughter, but it's a rare man like yourself, Alfred Jones, that will find peace beyond this trail of blood."

The doctor turned then, only to be stopped as Alfred grabbed a hold of the man's uniform. He stopped and turned, seeing Alfred bent over, his head hung with just his arm still outstretched where he hung on to the doctor.

His words, just barely discernible.

"I shot him."

The doctor knelt down in front of him then, and pulled Alfred into his arms.

"You shot a man, but you are not a killer, Alfred." He said, rubbing comforting circles against the soldier's back. "You saved many lives by pulling your trigger. Sometimes, it is a necessity in life for peace to remain."

Alfred leaned away, his eyes having grown red but he held strong from shedding tears he feared his men may see.

"I thought I might have gotten by without ever having to end a life... but I was foolish. So foolish." He shook his head, then removed his glasses to rub at his eyes.

"If you're a fool, Alfred-" the doctor started, bringing Alfred's gaze onto his own, "I wish there would be more fools like you."

The morning came with little fuss. Alfred moved his troops down multiple expanses of roads that lead throughout the acres of wild forests. His men, now all seasoned in their techniques, rested calmly against large maples, oaks, and pines. With Alfred's added knowledge in camouflage from his father, they had all used what was around to mask their blue uniforms even further.

Their trap was set, and all that was needed now was to wait.

Alfred sat mounted further east having finished his rounds. Checking that his men were well positioned.

Washington had reported to him that there was more than five hundred men marching their way. Alfred had no more than two hundred marksmen at his disposal, but what got through their lines would be marching towards Washington's reserve. Alfred held great faith in his men, they had not let him down through all the battles they had waged. The same went for his muskets. After they managed to retake Boston, the armories were opened, and Alfred immediately set to work rifling the iron muskets he found there. He had to laugh as one day he came across the muskets he had fashioned himself for the order made by the British Army over a year ago. They were put to good use in good hands.

Alfred was already on his way back down the road when a horsemen came charging towards him. The familiar blue uniform giving off his identity to the men hidden in the forest.

"Corporal Jones!"

"Where are they?"

"Ten miles south, sir."

"Any count?"

"They've split up their units, sir. Can't be more than a hundred-fifty headin' this way."

"We have forty men hidden along this road. We should be able to slow them down, if not turn them around completely. Remember, take out the mounted officers first. They're prime targets, and it will send the soldiers scrambling."

"Yes, sir!" The young man saluted as he began to turn his horse, only until Alfred quickly stopped him.

"Lieutenant!"

"Sir!" The man saluted quickly, half turning his horse in the process.

"Remember, if you see a-"

"Solid black draft horse, sir?" The man cracked a smile, "We all know very well about that horse, sir."

Alfred sighed with a nod, and waved off the man.

After making a quick pass along the road, the distant rumble of marching feet could be heard closing in. Alfred quickly steered his horse off into the woods, dismounting and returning to his men, finding his own place nearest the front. They were up on a small hill that dipped down to the dirt road, well concealed, and the high ground advantage.

_This will be a major blow to the British if we stop them here. We can't lose._

A silence Alfred had grown use to began to envelope the land around them. To anyone alone, anyone paying attention, would notice the sheer quiet that the trees seemed to drown in. Not a bird chirped. Not a leaf rustled. Alfred's own heart seemed to still as he could no longer hear the rushing of blood through his ears.

Then, the first redcoats broke over the hill. Calmly marching forward. Their muskets held against their shoulders. A steady rhythm moving through them, all in perfect formation.

Alfred watched his men as they held their fire as soldier after soldier passed them by. Each man in blue seeming to have simultaneously held their breath in case the slightest inhale would alert the British to their presence.

_Not long now._

The redcoats continued their march.

_Just over that hill..._

The faint sound of hoof beats.

_Our key to chaos._

Then the mounted officer came into view, riding atop a blue roan.

Alfred would be the second to take the shot if the first man missed.

He steadily brought the iron musket to his shoulder, preparing for the officer to come abreast. Opening up as a larger target as he crested the hill.

Alfred lined up his sight. Trained his eye along the barrel.

Breathed.

Then he faltered.

_Arthur._

His arms went limp.

A flock of birds took flight.

The marching stopped.

Green eyes locked with his.

"D-don't shoot!"

Alfred's limbs felt useless under him as he tried to run to the first marksmen.

"Hold your fire!" He reached out, his arm seeming to stretch before him in slow motion.

The soldier had the shot, and Alfred saw the puff of smoke fly from the match as it struck. The eruption of noise amidst silence.

Everything seemed to have slowed.

Alfred turned his head, just in time to see the lead ball pierce through Arthur's chest. His body rocking backwards from the impact.

Then he fell.

Chaos immediately erupted around him.

Men cursed, muskets fired, bodies dropped to the ground with shrieks of agony, or in utter silence.

The scene was familiar to Alfred. It was the same every time. Already he could hear shouts from his men as they felt the triumph of victory almost within their reach.

But Alfred knew none of it. Alfred knew only of sliding down the embankment, straight into the mess of red, both in uniform and the spray of warm liquid against his face. He heard a few shouts of protest behind him, but nothing mattered. Not even as he felt his body shoved backward a few steps. A warmth spilling down from his left shoulder. He staggered forward more, yet he was shoved again, this time warmth ghosted down his stomach.

He moved forward. One man came hurtling towards him, his musket drawn above his head ready to stab him, only Alfred was able to bring his own musket around, jabbing the sharp point of his bayonet into the soft flesh of the man's belly. Blood bubbled out between the man's lips, and Alfred let him fall past him, Alfred's musket to rest beneath the man's corpse.

Amidst the scattered bodies, broken weapons, shouts and gun fire, Alfred finally spotted the still form that had been haunting his dreams for over a year.

_A... dream... it all... has to be._

He wasn't sure why his breathing was growing stressed. Why his body was growing weaker. Why his limbs shook. What he did know, was finally falling a few feet away from that outstretched hand.

His eyes, growing heavy for some reason, stared at the man's chest, just barely seeing it rise and fall in quick succession.

Alfred's legs no longer seemed to want to lift him, so he pulled himself along the dirt and blood caked Earth. Pulling himself up ever slightly to finally see that face as he reached him.

"You... idiot." The soldier's words bubbled out from his lips as Alfred finally collapsed. His head landing on Arthur's shuddering chest.

"Me." Alfred coughed, "I... told you to... ride... fucking Hero."

Alfred felt Arthur's chest shudder as a laugh ran through him. The sound just barely making it to Alfred's ears.

"Someone else... needed... your protection more," the soldier paused, wincing with his breathing, "than me."

Alfred could hear the sounds around him dying away. The quiet beginning to return as men fled, saw to one another's injuries, or just prayed.

"You'll need... a damned amount of... protection... after I'm done wringin' ya neck, ya prick."

Another shuddering laugh, "I will... take that... as a warning."

The two quieted then, trying to bring their breathing under control as the area quieted further. Alfred thought he had heard a familiar loud snort, and a shout of his name... and of Arthur's.

A hiss suddenly grabbed Alfred's attention as he looked up at Arthur. His eyes were shut tight, his teeth gritted as he fought off the pain.

Alfred blindly tried to move his right hand around along his side 'till his fingers finally brushed against Arthur's. With more effort than he thought was needed, he twined his fingers together with Arthur's, while hoisting himself up more on his left arm, just enough so he could see those piercing green eyes with his own blue.

After Arthur's features began to relax, his eyes slowly opened, and the faintest of smiles lit Arthur's face.

"You know... you look quite sharp... in that blue uniform."

Alfred chuckled till he winced some, "I'm afraid it'll be... as red as yours here soon."

A cool hand came up and gently rested against Alfred's cheek. That smile, still lingering in Arthur's eyes.

"Shh, enough of that." Those thin fingers against Alfred's cheek gently brushed up to run through his hair. With little effort, Arthur was able to draw Alfred closer to him as Alfred's strength in his arm began to give way. "Rest easy, Alfred... this... war... is yours."

Alfred shook his head, though regretted the action as he felt the world spin around him, "This was... only a battle."

"No." Another soft smile as he shook his head, "Alfred, these people had you... someone... the British did not have." His thumb slowly moving soothing circles into Alfred's cheek. "You won this war, Alfred... because you live on through all of them."

Alfred's grip suddenly tightened on Arthur's hand.

"I understand now... why they always said you would become great one day."

"Arthur..."

Arthur then leaned forward, gasping with the pain, and gently rested his lips against Alfred's, before settling back down in the dirt.

The sound of thunder rumbled above them as the sky began to grow darker. Shouts still came from far down the road as men moved out their fallen comrades. All happening just as the first drops of rain began to pelt from the sky. The start of a storm to wash away the evidence of death.

Alfred felt his body beginning to numb as he struggled to keep focused on Arthur. Arthur, who's own eyelids began to fall victim to the heaviness that seemed to weigh them both down.

"Arthur... I-"

"Shh... enough now, rest..."

Arthur's urging was far from necessary as Alfred sunk against Arthur's chest. His head resting just above his heart. The fluttering beat... seeming to quiet, or was Alfred having trouble listening.

A soft caress as Arthur's hand carted through Alfred's hair. Slow and gentle, as if he was a child being soothed to sleep.

Alfred's breathing was coming in rasps now, but he couldn't fall asleep yet. He needed Arthur to hear him before he fell asleep.

Just as that hand came to a stop in Alfred's hair, he finally felt his voice whisper out with his last breath, "I love you."

* * *

><p><em>"Alfred!"<em>

_"Alfred, there is much I need to discuss with you, but you are not in your right mind to listen to me."_

_"You're a fool... a fool Arthur Kirkland."_

_"We kissed, and you wanted me— know it is forfeit?"_

_"—pulled me from the river—"_

_"What do you want with me—?"_

_"—father's grave."_

_"Don't go dying on me yet."_

_"—look like I captured you."_

_"—believe weapons is all that you need to win this war?"_

_"Why not ask— in— beginning?"_

_"fOR what? —hAVE yOURseLF kILLed?"_

_"—FRoM youR fatHER?_

_"ALfreD. PlEASe taLK tO me."_

_"DoN'T go sLOw."_

_"A-AlFreD, —nEEd yo—"_

A sharp intake of air.

Coughing.

Cold.

Shaking.

Heart racing.

Wet.

Bloodied hands in his vision.

Something missing.

A scream.

_"I need a break from all of this."_

_"But, sir!"_

_"You will manage without me."_

_"... when can we expect your return?"_

_"How long is a human life?"_

His body convulsed, throwing himself forward as his stomach emptied on the ground.

He shook, memories still flooding through his mind. He clutched at his head, squinting his eyes as he waited for them all to subside. It was a familiar feeling, the death of the human life, chosen by the nation as a reprieve from their curse if only for a short time.

For Arthur, formerly known as England, he had lived many human lives over his long history. All under the same guise, always appearing the same as he grew from an infant to a man (if he was successful in living that long). Once death claimed him, he would again awaken as his former self. Immediately consumed by memories from that human life.

Arthur brought his hands to his face. Rubbing vigorously. Something was different about this last human life, however. The memories, always spanning the full life cycle, but this time, only select pieces came back to him. All of them revolving around that one man.

"Alfred."

He then finally removed his hands from his face to take in the area around him.

Bodies of men lay strewn up and down the length of the road. All of them in the uniform of his British Army. Many of them missing their boots and weapons, already having been picked clean by the colonists as they left the area.

Besides his own fallen men, the bodies of those colonists who had been shot down had been removed from the area. Including one man who had rested against Arthur as he died.

"Ugh-" Arthur stumbled to his feet, noticing his own armaments had been swiped as well. Not that he needed them any longer. His hand ghosted against the hole that remained in the fabric of his coat. Beneath that would be smooth skin, without the trace of a scar. If they lost this war, then the true scar would tear across him like all the others his nation had faced in the past; permanently etching England's history across his skin.

_I need to get back to New York and report to Parliament._

Sudden hoof beats quickly grabbed Arthur's attention as he turned around and was greeted by a massive black horse. _That horse..._

"You there, soldier!"

The unfamiliarity in the man's voice took Arthur a moment to register what had happened. One thing about reawakening was the disorientation. He always hated it.

"Lieutenant Berkley." He smiled. _Why am I smiling?_

"Ahh, Major General Kirkland!" The young lieutenant hauled up on Hero's reigns as he neared, quickly slipping from the back of the large horse and saluted. "My apologies, sir, I was unaware you had returned."

"At ease. I am still recovering myself."

Berkley nodded.

"How... long... has it been since this battle ended?" Arthur motioned to the men around him.

"A day, sir. Were you injured? Your uniform is covered in blood." Berkley's eyes widened as the morning sun broke through the trees, finally bringing to light the chaos that rested around them.

"Disregard that, Lieutenant." _Only a day. Could explain why I still have residual feelings of friendship towards this human._

The man nodded. "There is a camp just south of here, sir. General Redford is stationed there."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

The man paused, seeming to struggle with his next words, "I... have business here. You can ride He-, my horse back to the camp if you would like, sir."

Arthur eyed the man for a moment, finding he should give some comfort here. He was one of his people after all.

"Did you lose someone here, Lieutenant?"

The officer nodded, although Arthur had a feeling he wasn't being told the complete truth.

"Very well. See that you are back at camp before dusk." Arthur walked forward, taking the reigns of the large horse and climbing onto it without difficulty.

The lieutenant seemed to eye him strangely for a moment as Arthur settled into the saddle. It felt rather familiar to him for some reason. _Perhaps I had ridden this horse during that life._

"Anything else, Lieutenant?"

"Oh, no, sir. I... am glad you are back with us, sir." He saluted.

Arthur nodded, and with a kick of his heels, sent the horse back down the road to get him back to his burdening tasks as a nation.

* * *

><p>He wasn't sure what it was that had brought him back to this hill. His gaze, lingering over the vast Boston Harbour that had once been his harbour.<p>

It had been a month since the Declaration of Independence had been signed. His ships, finally leaving the harbour to go back to his home. He had yet to put in writing Great Britain's acknowledgement of the new nation, but there was other matters that needed his attention. His concern no longer rested with this land across the ocean. His hands wiped clean of the loss.

Yet, there was still something that had pulled him here to this hill.

_It has been over a year... that life should no longer be affecting me._

It hadn't, for some time. Once he had returned to the camp that day to speak with Redford, the man practically had thrown himself on his hands and knees. Only the few who really knew who Arthur was treated him in such a manner. With anyone else, he was only known as his formal military rank, still revered though as someone of greatness, yet strangely never knowing any further details.

His gaze moved away from the harbour to look on at the multitude of graves that littered the hill top. One in particular had captured his attention when he had first arrived, but he couldn't seem to walk towards it. Something in him gnawed painfully, as if he didn't want to see the name on that grave.

Now though, he had come to this hill with a purpose, even if it wasn't one he was fully aware of, and it had something to do with that grave.

Taking one last look around the area, noting that he was alone, he stepped forward to the headstone. The roughly carved granite was still new. It seemed whomever the grave belonged had been someone of importance. Maintained with care over the past year. Fresh flowers settled at its base. Delicate letters and numbers chiseled into the stone.

Arthur moved closer, kneeling before it to finally read the name that seemed to haunt him.

"Alfred Franklin Jones. Beloved Son and Brother, who's courage lives on in the lives he saved. Born July 4, 1753, Died August 23, 1775"

"Do you remember him now?"

Arthur jumped at the sudden voice behind him, quickly standing and turning to see who had snuck up on him from behind. A chill ran through him at the offending blue uniform of the Continental Army. He had grown tired of seeing that uniform. He would be happy to finally be back on his own shores again.

"Why should I remember him? He was one of your people."

A soft smile lit the man's young face. Those blue eyes shining behind the glasses that framed them. He moved forward, bringing a hand along the granite's surface in a smooth caress.

"I guess you're right."

The man went silent then, causing an awkward silence between them. Arthur shifted his weight from foot to foot, finally breaking the silence with a clearing of his throat.

The man turned, and finally let his gaze touch Arthur's own. For a moment, Arthur thought he felt his heart begin to pound in his chest.

With another clearing of his throat, Arthur turned back to face the harbour.

"What will you do now that you have gained your independence from me?"

A breeze at his back had picked up, sending Arthur's hair and coat tails blowing in the cool air. The direction of the wind seeming to want to rid Arthur from the lands.

The other man finally stood, walking up along side Arthur as well. He breathed in heavily, filling his lungs with the fresh air.

"I'll be headin' west. Out there is untamed wilderness. Lands for my people to call their own. There is nothing for me across this ocean."

Arthur nodded.

"It is... difficult... becoming a new nation." Arthur wasn't sure where his thoughts were leading him, even though he hated having lost his colonies, and in its stead a new nation was born, but he felt some sort of connection to the nation. As if he wanted to lend a hand. "There is much to learn-"

Arthur suddenly stopped when he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. Turning him to face the blond.

A gentle smile lit his face. How he could smile after everything England had put his land and people through shocked the older nation. He knew the nation was strong, but to be so kind to an enemy... how long before he was taken over by another nation due to that kindness. Arthur wasn't sure if he wanted to see this new nation fall under another nation's grasp. He was still England's. He could be independent, but he would always be England's.

"I never expected the job would be easy, but... I know where you are, England. There will come a time when our people no longer hate one another. I will wait patiently for that day." His smile, now lighting in his eyes. Arthur wondered just how long before that smile was broken. Broken like his own had been so many centuries ago.

Arthur nodded his understanding.

"You already seem wiser beyond your years. I am sure you will become great some day." Arthur found a smile to give back to the man, placing a hand on the other nation's shoulder in return. "Good luck to you... America."

With those final words, Arthur turned to leave the hill from whence he came. To return to his ships. To return to his people across the ocean. To put everything behind him. To simply forget.

The young nation remained atop the hill, watching the other nation leave. Once he disappeared amongst the trees, the blond turned to walk to the east side of the large maple that shaded the graves of the Jones family. Away from the other stones, a single plaque rested nestled in the grass. It also had been carefully maintained, and the young nation was able to read the engraved letters with ease. His fingers, tracing along those delicate lines with care. As if remembering a feeling of something long since gone.

With a final sigh, he stood up, and turned to look out into the harbor. The tall ships, now slowly pulling away from the shore and off into the deep sea. Far below along the road, he thought he spotted the shape of a galloping black horse. It's rider clad in red.

His smile softened then, and with a final salute to the wind, he replied, "To you as well... Arthur."

End.

**A/N: I had that final ending in mind since I first started writing QA, and as I was going along with it, I became terrified that the thought of them dying and being reborn as their nations (Alfred only having been reborn the moment the Declaration of Independence was signed) would be a terrible idea after an entire fic of human!AU.**

**So, here I am, hoping you guys aren't going to take pitchforks to my face. lol I dropped a line repeatedly through the fic regarding how Alfred would "become great one day", insinuating that his people felt a certain something from Alfred. In this case he became America (as we all know). It was very subtle and I didn't want to allude too much to this plot twist.**

**Well, with that, I thank you all for being so supportive of this fic! Love it, hate it, I would love to hear your final thoughts on the conclusion to this lengthy story of mine. (Especially the death scene.)**

**I will leave you with some good news. I do have a short Epilogue which I will be posting soon. :)**

**Again, thank you! I have a few more writing projects, including a major art project for the USUK fandom that I am working on, so I do hope you can continue to look forward to art and writing stuffs by me. ^^**

* * *

><p>If my FF. net account is deleted due to smut, I have a writing journal at: <em>ahr0. livejournal. com<em>. Please follow there for all new updates. :)

Follow me on Tumblr as well for updates and USUK fanart: _ahro. tumblr. com_


	17. Epilogue

**Quartering Acts **

**By Ahro**

**Epilogue**

The sound of gulls high above lifted Arthur's gaze to the sky. The blue expanse stretching on, while dotted white clouds coasted along with the wind. A single jet streaked across the blue and white canvas, taking him out of his world, and reminding him just how far the world had come.

_How far we've all come since then._

He then looked down at his feet. The waves of the Atlantic, gently lapping at the souls of his shoes. While further out ran a coal black jetty. The cold waters brushing its sides, occasionally revealing the speckled shapes of barnacles and mussels.

The sound of an engine cutting off from behind him, followed by a car door being shut brought him to look up again. Not at the approaching person, but out across the waters, to the far west where he had left so much, but gained back that much more.

"There has always been something strange about this spot." Arthur began, as his guest walked up along side him. That familiar brown bomber jacket appearing out of the corner of his eye. "I have come back here numerous times before, but not once could I tell what it was. Even now..."

Arthur's hand at his side clenched, but then relaxed as the other man's hand gently took his and intertwined their fingers together.

A calm smile played on Arthur's face as he shut his eyes. Feeling the warmth of the sun at his back, and the courage that hand gave to him.

"Even now... I fear I am still uncertain as to what this place means to me. Should mean to me... but..." His gaze moved down to stare at the bouquet of red roses. Bundled together with an elegant red and gold bow. "...I think a calm will finally settle in this place, and I pray, in my heart as well."

His hand was squeezed with reassurance then. Courage and an understanding that he knew only could come from that man.

With a heavy sigh, and his spirit beginning to feel less weighted, he tossed the bouquet out across the waters, settling along side those jet black stones.

"For whatever the reason..." The waves brushed along the flowers and stones, seeming to caress them in thanks, "I hope it brings peace to that spirit... as well as my own."

End.

**A/N: That is the final ending of Quartering Acts.**

**Extremely short, but I felt it pulled everything together in the end. I hope you all enjoyed it. :)**

**Thank you all so SO very much. Your reviews over the ending have really touched me deeply, and I can't begin to express my thank you.**

**I love and cherish you all!**

**Sincerely yours, Ahro.**


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